I Will Not Bow
by wjjmwmsn5
Summary: "There's the moment where people are silent, and it takes me a moment to realize what I have just said, for, right now, not even I know, nor do I understand. I have said, 'We will fight for you. All of us. But I won't give in to it. I will not bow.'" These Games promise to be everything and the best ones yet. 151st Hunger Games. The Games have begun! The sequel is being planned.
1. Chapter 1: District One Reapings

**A/N: The last reserved spots are so far down, I decided to start reapings! So yay! Well, I hope you enjoy!**

D1- 17- (Hunter Blackthorne)

I wake up in my nice home in District One to the sound of my stupid alarm clock, meaning it's time to get ready for the reaping. I'm just glad I can sleep in later than eight hours before the reaping this year. But I wonder why I can, considering that I'll probably have to volunteer this year.

I get out from under my sheets and slip out of my nightclothes and into a silver tunic—one-handed, of course, since Rika, my old friend, cut it off years ago—black tights, and black lace-up boots. Then I go to the bathroom and brush my wavy chestnut hair before the mirror.

To explain more about my arm: Rika, who is no longer my friend, and I were in a sword dual years ago—just for fun. And she cut my arm. I was rushed to a hospital and now have an artificial arm, which makes it harder to do certain things as it used to be. I've gotten used to it, but I haven't—and never will—forgive Rika.

I go to the kitchen where Ryo and my parents are eating. "You're up late," Ryo commented.

"I didn't set the clock," I tell him, sitting down and starting to eat. Once we're all done, Ryo puts his clothes on quickly and hurries back so we can be there in time for me to volunteer. I guess I will have to this year.

I stand in the seventeen-year-old section after having signed in. The reaping starts slow, with the mayor's speech and all. There is so much chatter around me, that even if I didn't want to listen—which I don't—it would be too loud.

"And, concluding my speech, let me read the list of past District One Hunger Games victors," the mayor roars so we hear. He reads the list after saying that twelve victors from our district are still alive. "And now, without further adieu, may I introduce…Toilia Marray!"

Our Capitol escort, who was previously neon blue last year, when Nick diLaurnetis and Therese O'Hannigan died, but is now horrid neon yellow, blinding my eyes almost. And worse. Every inch of her is yellow, even her contacts. But when she opens her mouth, I am glad to see her mouth is not yellow.

"Hello, hello!" she squeals. When there is a roar of applause, she smiles. "Thank you, thank you. Now, on to the reaping of one young, courageous man and one young, courageous woman to compete in the One-Hundred-Fifty-First Annual Hunger Games!" The screams are deafening, and I smile, though I could care less. I can't let anyone else know that, though—especially not my parents. "May the odds be _ever _in your favor!"

Toilia reaches her small yellow hand into the glass bowl rimmed with pink ribbon because it's the girls' and draws out a folded name. She snaps the slip open and carefully reads, "Laya Ellica!"

I step forward and raise my real arm, taking a breath before calling out, "I volunteer as tribute!"

D1- 16- (Kaiden Johnson)

I step up to the table so I can sign in. The Peacekeeper zaps my finger, sticks it on my square, and lets me go. I go to my age's section and stand there, waiting for everyone to file in so we can get this over with. Maybe I wouldn't mind filing into the square every year like this, if this weren't the reaping for the Hunger Games.

I wait and wait until everyone is here and the reapings start.

The mayor rambles on and I can't even hear him. Finally when the reaping starts, everyone gets dead-silent. And then they erupt in screams because of what the neon escort said.

"May the odds be _ever_ in your favor!"

I roll my eyes at their deafening excitement until everything is silent again. Then the name "Laya Ellica" is read, and a girl from my section starts to make her way up, her head high, until a girl with chestnut brown hair that goes just below her shoulders volunteers. She is pretty with her intelligent green eyes, good height, and nice build.

"And now for the males!" screeches the escort. She reaches her name into the blue-ribbon bowl after click-clacking across the stage in those bright yellow heels of hers. "Kaiden Johnson!"

I stay back. I know it's me, but I might as well pretend I think it wasn't. Peacekeepers come and let me go up to the stage, but I stage put, and they drag me kicking and screaming.

"Shake hands, you two," the escort commands. We do so, and then we're taken to the Justice Building.

D1- 17- (Hunter Blackthorne)

I watch as the boy with short, shaggy dark brown hair, green eyes, and muscles comes up to the stage. I faintly recognize him as the loudmouth that picks fights with random people, and this is confirmed when I see one of his scars.

We shake hands and are taken to the Justice Building. There, my family enters. The little twelve-year-old brother of mine walks in smiling. I'm not sure if he means it, but he—Ryo—says, "You volunteered."

"Yeah, I did." My parents smile brightly, and I try to lighten my mood so they don't notice how much I regret this. "I did!"

"We're so proud of you, honey," my mother tells me with a grin.

"You can't disgrace us and lose," my father orders with a smile but cold eyes.

I nod to this, and then we all hug. Peacekeepers tell them it's time to leave for them. For a second, I think that's all the visitors I'll get, but then another Peacekeeper—a young one with large brown eyes—announces, "You have another visitor, Miss Blackthorne."

I wait until she enters. She looks into my eyes after running in here, puts the metal in my hands, and closes my hand over it. She looks in my eyes again, and then hurries out. When I look down into my hand and open the locket, I am looking at Rika and me when we were young. Her locket of her and I is now my token.

I really wish I wouldn't have volunteered, because now I may never see Rika again, and I've just come to the conclusion to forgive and forget.

D1- 16- (Kaiden Johnson)

No one comes to visit me or say goodbye. I am taken on to the train early where I see my mentor, Arthur Malcolm, welcomes me on the train and smiles joyfully.

"I'm sorry," he tells me. "I'll try to make this amazing."

"You sound like you're from the Capitol, not District One," I say truthfully. I look at the ridiculous colors and patterns on his regular clothes. "You look it, too."

He admits, "I've spent my fare share there. I just moved back so I could mentor."

He runs his hand through his brown hair and gives me a kind look with his blue eyes. He shakes my hand and the escort hurries in. She shakes my hand, too, and then purses her lips, wiping her right hand on her dress. "Yes, well. I'm Toilia Marray!" she exclaims.

"Your name sounds like 'toilet montage'," I tell her bluntly. Then I walk to the dining room and an Avox is right at my side. "Tea with sugar, please." She runs off and comes back a minute later with my drink. I sip it at the table until the girl tribute comes on the train.

"Congratulations, dear," her mentor chimes, coming out from the other car. She walks over to the girl and hugs her. "I'm Melrose McKinney, victor of the One-Hundred-Fortieth Hunger Games." Melrose goes to the sitting room, her blonde curls bouncing behind her.

The girl tribute comes and sits with me at the bar and orders coffee. I distinctly notice one of her arms is not real. I refrain from asking as she says, "You a Career, too?"

I shake my head. "I think I'll be alone," I tell her, since she is being kind. "You?"

"Oh. I'm a Career," she admits rather unhappily. "Hunter, if you didn't remember."

"Kaiden, if you didn't remember." We shake hands again.

If she weren't my enemy, she wouldn't be _too_ bad.

**A/N: How do you like? Did I capture your tributes nicely? Well, thank you to Rikachan101 and Fanohaymitchabernathy for submitting Hunter and Kaiden!**

**Also: IMPORTANT!- Please vote on arena ideas and send me your vote so it's anonymous. Sketch the girl who imagined came up with these great ideas, so let's thank her!:**

**A.** The arena is giant and they shrunk the tributes  
**B. **They are in a really big castle  
**C. **They're in a no gravity vortex  
**D. **They are in a huge circus  
**E. **They're underwater and they are genetically enhanced so the are mermaids and mermen  
**F. **They all see their district so it's different for everyone so they have different obstacles

**Review now and I will figure out an official sponsor system—if I use one at all this time around—soon. Also, allies and stuff will be figured out and put in a chapter soon, too. Again: REVIEW OR MAY THE ODDS BE _EVER_ IN YOUR FAVOR!**


	2. Chapter 2: District Two Reapings

**A/N: Hey, guys! Okay, this is weird. Today I was talking about the Hunger Games with my friend, and somehow I remembered a whole conversation between Katniss and Peeta from Catching Fire... I think I've read the books too many times. **  
**I hope you enjoy this, and I'm going to start doing a "You know you're obsessed with THG when..." things at the beginning of the chapter, and quotes I remember at the bottom.**  
**So: You know you're obsessed with The Hunger Games Trilogy when you support, ship, read, and even WRITE Foxface/Marvel. **  
**Guilty. Just check out my other story and you'll see.**  
**Check out blueyoshguy's SYOT. I have a tribute in there, and blueyoshguy needs more, and I want the story to be updated, so submit to his SYOT, please! And... check out : CallingMeFakeWontMakeYouReal**

D2- 17- (Drake Flint)  
I step out of my room, fully dressed in reaping clothes, looking fantastic, most likely. I go down the baige hallway with determined strides. I am going to volunteer today, I think happily with a joyful smile. In the kitchen, my mother smiles insanely—no, for me, she is eccentric, not insane—and my father pats me on the back.

"I can see it now!" he exclaims, talking about me winning the Hunger Games again. Ugh. I remember last year when he went insane when Richard Perry and Sophia Jones—the tributes from our district—died. He wanted one of them to win, and then I'd win, so we'd set a record. "You better go off to training."

I smile and thank him, telling him I'll see him in the Justice Building later, and go to the training building up town. Once there, the girls squeal, "It's Drake!" They run to me and I smile graciously, but then I see her. She is blushing and she cracks her whip, her brother next to her. I've always wondered about her—the girl with the whip. She blushes beet-red when the girls swarm me and she stays back. But I think she's interesti—"Drake, do you remember me from last week? I'm Stacy!"

I turn towards the girl in front of me and smile. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Thank you, sure, and I love you all. See you at the reaping."

I leave, still looking at the girl with the whip that is training alone with the other girls who don't care. I make my way to the reaping square early and sit in my section's area. I sit there until people fill the stage, chattering. I hear something like "eagar boy" and "probably a volunteer." More people come early like me, and so does the girl. But she is sixteen, not seventeen, and so I can't really get closer to say hello.

I've talked to her before in training, and she always just shies away from me.

A person pats me on the back—hard—and I turn around, angry. "Who the f—"

"You volunteer, I'll kill you," he snaps. He tries to ush me, but I get out of the way of the big eighteen-year-old, and Peacekeepers pull him away as he screams, "Don't volunteer, kid! It's my year!"

After this, more people come in, confused to see the boy kicking and screaming. I go to the desk and sign in from the Peacekeepers as they draw a bead of my blood and smash it in the book. "You may go," they tell me, and I go back to my section, which is now crowded with people.

The mayor rambles on, but I'm too excited to pay attention. I wait and wait until he finally shuts up. By then, I could explode if he didn't get to the reaping soon! "May I introduce Calla Lambay as I read the name of all the victors of District Two, of which only fourteen are alive," the mayor says. Call comes to the stage in a pink sundress, her pink hair raining down, and her green skin not matching at all. She smiles as the mayor concludes with, "Laden Markoo."

She starts immediately. "Hello! Welcome to the reaping of the One-Hundred..." Blah, blah, blah. "And now for the females!" Her hand slips in the pink bowl. She pulls out a slip delicately. "Before I say it, aren't my shoes gorgeous?" She laughs into the microphone. "Kidding, kidding. Lola Sanchax!"

Then...she volunteers.

D2- 16- (Collette Finch)  
I wake up, freezing, and realize all the blankets are off. I get up and make my bed. Then I dress in a strapless, satin, blue dress that reaches down to my knees and head off to training, even though I'm in my reaping clothes.

On my way out, Rayden, my thirteen-year-old brother, follows me and we go to training together. He knows he won't be going in, so he's wearing regular clothes. He follows me to the whipping center and I crack my whip as he watches.

"Why're you volunteering?" he asks curiously. "I mean, really. Not the crap about Dad wanting you to and 'avenging' Mom."

Our mother was whipped brutally to death by a Peacekeeper years ago because she'd defended an old woman uptown who was convicted of theft, but didn't steal a thing. The night was brisk and cool, like me, as some say, and she took the steps up to the stage like she was about to give a performance, not be whipped. Turned out, though, she did give a performance. The Peacekeeper told her to get down, and they had to fight her down, and the only reason Rayden and I didn't run up there was because our father was holding us back.

When the first whip was cracked, blood fell and a scream emanated, but not from my mother. No—she was stronger than she had ever bee. The scream was from Rayden as he, just a little child, maybe only five, had witnessed such a sight. And I—only eight years old—couldn't sleep for days, lying awake in the chilly night's embracement, trying to sleep but seeing her being whipped too much in my mind for me to get a millisecond's sleep.

Last night was one of those returning night's, when my cover's were thrown everywhere, and all I could see was that first blood she shed.

"I'm a Career, Rayden," I snap, lying to him. "I want us to be famous, and I can do it."

He picks up on the lie quickly. "Please don't lie to me, Collette."

"Rayden." The name falls out of my mouth angrily, and then behind me I hear girl's shrieking at him. Drake Flint. My face reddens and I crack my whip at the dummy to conceal it. "Please, Ray. I'm going to the reaping soon, so make our last minutes before I'm gone for a month be good, okay?"

"I don't want you to leave for life, is all," he says defensively. "I don't want some insane other Career, like, say, him, over there, to volunteer and kill you."

I laugh lightly. "I could take Drake Flint."

"No, Collette, you couldn't," he tells me. My whip goes down harder than I intended, and it flings out of my hand. I take another from next to Rayden, not bothering to retrieve my other as he, his hand flicking his curly brown hair out of his green eyes, adds, "I mean, really. Think about it."

"You say 'I mean, really' too much. Is it cool for people your age, now, little brother?" I laugh, setting the whip down as Drake Flint leaves the room. I love him, but who doesn't? I don't have a chance with him. "Come on, Rayden."

He follows me to the square, rambling on about who knows what and when we are finally signed in and he parts from me, I sigh. I go to the sixteen-year-old section and wait, tracing my name in the dirt. Then I trace "volunteer" in the dirt and a shiver runs through me. It's such a powerful word, you know. It defines fate. And it's more than that. It's fate that you and the word decide together, not just because the stupid Capitol's name slip defined it.

Once the reaping initially begins, and the names are beginning to be drawn, I look down at the word, scuffed by my foot, right underneath me. It's relatively unharmed. Maybe I can be like that word I traced in the dirt, and a girl next to me—Ally Lue from my year at school, and one of my somewhat friends—says, "Volunteering, huh?"

"Shut up," I snap.

She smiles.

I step out of the line as the girl's name is called, and yell, "Volunteer!" I was so consumed in that one word and thrown out by Ally's comment, that I only said the one word. "I mean, I volunteer as tribute," I correct myself. I head up to the stage and look out at the crowd, saying, "I am Collette Finch."

Then she moves onto the boys. I hope, hope, hope that Rayden doesn't get drawn. But someone would volunteer...right? But it doesn't matter; he won't be dr—"Rayden Finch!"

The shock on my brother's and probably mine is insurmountable and not understandble. It's just another show them all, isn't it? Just a tragedy they won't be going in, while I am about to go in with my brother!

As I think this, the best voice in the world, and whomever's it is, I am extremely grateful to, rings out with, "I volunteer as tribute!" His dark, faux-hawk hair with golden highlights. His sparkly emerald eyes. His height and buff-ness. His freckles. I know this boy. I love this boy. I've never spoken to this boy, and now...he's my competition?

Well, we're Careers, so nothing matters, whether we are enemies or not, because we...are... We are ruthless. Right? I feel uncertain of too many things today.

D2- 17- (Drake Flint)  
I walk u to her long, shoulder-length, blonde, wavy hair and crystal clear blue eyes. We shake hands and I am taken to the Justice Building, forced to part with her.

I don't want to kill her. The rest—yes. But I don't want to kill her. I love her. My fists ball up in fists as I anticipate this whole thing, what will happen, and how the Capitol—who I normally have nothing against—and everyone here expected her and her brother to fight to the death on live television. By the time my family arrives in my good-byes room, I am practically an inferno of rage, because she—she, of all people, had to volunteer, and then I was not going to, but then her brother and everything...—and I are going to kill each other. And...and I don't even know! I'm just angry, and no one can calm me, because I have no purpose. I am just angry.

Star, my little sister, comes in and hugs me. I try to return the hug, but end up carefully pulling her off of me, confused.

"What?" she asks.

"I don't know, okay? I'm just angry, okay?" I snap, going to the window and clenching onto the panes. "Okay?"

"Okay, what?" my mother and father say from behind me.

I turn around. "Oh. Hey." I unclench my fists for them and hug them all, say sorry to Star, and they leave, telling me they'll see me soon.

Then I battle through as my annoying "fan club" fights to say good-bye to me. Once they're finally gone, I am taken to the train, where I see my mentor, Laden Markoo, and Collette's, Thyme Houston.

Then Collette comes in, and she smiles at me. Either she is just being kind, or she is thinking of killing me, like every Career would probably do. I blurt this out as a question. She laughs. "Admiring you," she whispers. "You're quite cute, you know. Of course you do. I saw thise girls."

I smile. "Ha-ha. Funny."

She looks at her shoes and then Thyme interrupts us. "Awww! Love birds! I remember last year. There were two pairs of 'em. So cute."

I roll my eyes at Collette's mentor as we all sit down for the reapings recap.

D2- 16- (Collette Finch)  
My father bursts in and congratulates me, patting me on the back with a huge grin. "Do me good, Co!"

"I will," I promise him, and he staggers out. I wonder why. He's never drunk, and never wants to be. I wonder why—if he is at all—he's drunk.

Next is Rayden. He collapses to the couch, as if he was reaped, but from some district like Five and is weak and helpless and obviously going to die. "They reaped me."

"They reaped you," I repeat him.

"Wh—what if he hadn't volunteered, Collette? Tell me that story, not the one where you win and then we live happily ever after," he demands.

"It will happen. I can do anything," I say confidently. "But okay." I take a deep breath. "We go in. We're a great hit. I let you win. You come home. The end. Bye, Ray."

He stands up and grabs my arm. "Don't tell me you're not the least bit afraid," he snaps. "At least, after Mom."

"Bye Ray. See you soon," I reply.

He nods and leaves the room. "You better," he says as he leaves, and then the Peacekeepers, determining my fate like the word I shouted at the reaping, take me to the terrible train.

**A/N: Love it? Hate it? Let me know in reviews! And again, check out blueyoshguy's awesome SYOT!**

**Thank you to you all, and to jblonde123 for submitting the tributes for this district. I hope I got her tributes right!**


	3. Chapter 3: District Three Reapings

**A/N: Hey! My Internet is really messed up, so…that's one of the reasons there was a kind of long wait. Or longer than usual, at least. Hope you enjoy! R&R and check out CallingMeFakeWontMakeYouReal and blueyoshguy! **

**D3- 14- (Myra De La Rosa)**

**"But what if she is picked, Myra? Or me? Or you?" Luna, my little sister, persists. Today is her first reaping, and she is more worried than ever. For me, for herself, and for her friend Makena Reox. **

**"We won't be, okay, Luna?" I tell her, rubbing the hair on her head and stading up from her bed. "Get dressed. The reaping is in a half-hour."**

**She nods and I leave the room. I make my way to my room and put on a **white blouse, a short black skirt, black flats, and leave my hair alone. And no makeup. Then I go to the kitchen, where my mother and father sit, and eat bread.

"Reaping day," I say softly, sitting down.

"We know," says my mother as my ten-year-old brother and seven-year-old sister named Elliott and Cecelia respectively come in the room, wearing normal clothes, since they aren't in the reaping yet. I wish they never would be. "Hello, dears."

"Where's Luna?" Cecelia asks.

"Dressing," I answer them. They all start eating and I slip out of the room without anyone noticing.

We live in the poorer part of District Three, so my house is small. I go to Luna's room and knock on the door. "Yes?"

"Almost time to go, Luna," I call through the door. "What's taking so long?"

She comes out of the room, her eyes red from tears. She runs into my arms, shocking me. Hesitatingly, I put my arms around her. "I'm sorry. For you. You should never have to go through the reaping," I whisper. "Now. Wipe your eyes. Don't want anyone to know you've been crying, do we?"

She shakes her head. We go back to the kitchen. "Found her," I say to the rest of my family.

"Okay, we have to go now," says my father, leading us out the door. And to what I dread every year since I turned twelve. The reaping.

Once we get there, I take Luna to sign in and then I sign in myself. "See you afterwards," I promise Luna.

D3- 16- (Andrew "Drew" Reox)

As I get dressed in plain white shirt, black leather jacket, black jeans, and black shoes, I hear my sister, Makena, waking in the other room. Once I am dressed, I leave my room and go into the long hallway. We live in the richer part of the district.

Makena walks out in her first reaping clothes. She wears a white blouse and white skirt, her long black hair in a messy up-do.

"Better let Mom fix that hair," I tell her with a laugh.

She makes an effort to smile like her usually-bubbly self and say, "Shut up, Andrew."

"Don't call me 'Andrew', Makena," I correct her.

"Fine, Drew," she sighs. We go to the kitchen and sit at the table with our mother. She is tapping her fingers wildly, like she always does on reaping day.

"You'll be okay, kids. They won't reap either of you," she tells us, though neither of us seems as worried as she is. Typical her on reaping day, you know.

"Don't jinx it," I say with a light smile.

She looks at me from the clock on the wall that she was staring at. "Jinx what?"

"Us not getting reaped." She nods and I nod back shortly. "You stay back. I'll take Makena."

"No. No, I need to go," she snaps, unlike herself.

We all go to the reaping and Makena and I sign in. Then Makena parts to the twelve-year-old section and I go to mine, the sixteen-year-old section. There, I stand by my friend, Maximilian Gregorich, my only friend my age.

"Hey, um…what's-her-name's been looking for you. You know, Layla Kay," he tells me. But I can see his smile. I decide to play along anyway.

"Why? We barely know each other," I reply. Layla Kay is supposedly the most beautiful girl in school, but honestly, I have no interest in her, though she does in me.

"Something about…hm, your date Friday wasn't it?" he laughs.

I roll my eyes. "Yeah, it was a big deal. Went all the way to the _Capitol_."

The reaping begins slowly, through the speeches, introductions, and squealing of the Capitol escort. Her name is Fawna Dolo and has blue highlights and a purple face. "Hello, hello! May the odds be _ever_ in your favor! Ladies first, of course!"

Her hand rummages deep inside the bowl rimmed with pink, and comes up with the most deadly thing in the world. A slip of paper…from the reaping bowl. "And the lucky female tribute from District Three to go to the One-Hundred-Fifty-First Annual Hunger Games is…" She snaps open the paper. "…Myra De La Rosa!"

A familiar long, light brown, wavy haired girl of short stature and olive skin mounts the stage. I know her. Makena knows her sister. My mom knows hers. And no doubt my drunken, awful father once knew hers.

D3- 14- (Myra De La Rosa)

I go up to the stage, clenching my fists. On the stage, Fawna smiles at me. My eyes meet Luna's, who's crying.

"Gentlemen!" she snaps. _Do you know how much I positively _hate_ you right now?_ Her hand goes into the bowl on the other side of the stage, the one rimmed with blue. Then she calls out, "Andrew Reox!" His short, raven black hair, dark grey-green eyes, fair skin, and stature of about 5'9 makes its way up to the stage. _Reox…like Luna's friend._

When we shake hands, I whisper, "I know you."

When people finally visit me in the Justice Building, I collapse in their arms, whoever they are. It's my parents. "It's okay, honey. We know you'll make it home," says my mother.

"But Mom. There's twenty-four…from District Three…so weak…can't use weapons." I can't seem to get out a sentence correctly.

"I know, I know. _We_ know, but you can make it, because you are Myra De La Rosa," she tells me.

Then Elliott, Cecelia, and Luna come in. I lean down and hug them tightly. "I love you," I whisper in their ears.

Cecelia won't let go. I have to force her off, and that makes me feel bad. "No, Myra, no! Please, no! You can't let me go! You have to stay here, with us, with me," Cecelia cries, actually crying.

"I can't." I can't. "I can't." _I can't._ The word rings everywhere. In my mind, in my heart, in my mouth. "I wish I could, but I can't."

Then they tell my family my time is up—the Peacekeepers do. I'm left standing stiffly, waiting for my friends, Joshua and Stormy.

They come in somewhere around fifteen minutes later. They run to me. Well, at least, Stormy, being a girl, does. We hug for a minute as Joshua takes in the room. He's observant like that a lot, even in times like this. Often it annoys me, but I could care less right now.

I separate from Stormy and walk to Joshua. Without a word, we hug. Then he sets something metallic in my palm. I open it to see my coyote necklace. I must've left it with him the other day when I was at his house with Stormy. No, they aren't siblings; Stormy and I just went together.

I mouth the words, "Thank you," and he nods. I put it around my neck. Its head is titled up, as if howling. It's so free and safe and secure, even though it's just a necklace.

We all hug and then they have to leave. None of us even said a word to each other. That makes me somewhat happy. It means they think I can come back, too, I guess. I'm still doubtful, especially with Drew in here. He's stronger and probably will kill me quickly, if a Career doesn't beat him to it, even though our families are close. In here, or where we are going, it's kill or be killed.

Or both.

D3- 16- (Drew Reox)

My mother comes in first, alone. She sits beside me on the brown, leather couch. We admire the fabric for a long time in silence, admiring each other's company, maybe the last we'll ever experience again.

"Tell me you'll try," she whispers like a little child.

I look up from the leather, but she doesn't. "I will, I promise. But—"

"I am your mother and I forbid any buts," she demands, looking up. "Not here; not now."

"Okay."

She kisses my forehead and says, "I'm already proud of you. Don't worry about that." She pauses. "I hope your father works up the will to stop being stupid and say goodbye to his only son."

Then she walks out and in walks Makena. "Don't kill her, Drew. Please. Don't kill Myra unless you _have_ to."

"I—I won't," I promise my little sister. Then I smile. "You and Luna keep the families together, okay? Promise me that."

"I promise," she answers. "Why?"

"Because I don't want you two to not be friends because Luna's sister and I are going to be in the arena," I tell her. "So smile. You're still living. You won't ever be reaped as long as you remember me and stay friends with Luna. I promise."

"Really?" she asks.

"Really," I whisper.

She hugs me and runs out.

Next in: Maximilian, Winter Storms, Harper Rollings, and Gavin Wood. My friends.

"Dude, Layla isn't going to be happy," Maximilian says, trying to lighten the mood. I make an effort to smile at this.

"Shut it, Maximilian," Winter says. He sits next to me. "Go for the gold."

"Listen," Gavin snaps. "Get to the Cornucopia A-S-A-P. I mean it. Get a weapon, water, and a pack. Run."

Harper pushes Winter further down the couch and wraps her arms around me, and lies her head on my shoulder. Like a big sister, who she might as well be to me, she whispers, "Don't listen to them. Just come home."

I nod and they're taken out by Peacekeepers. Then I am taken onto the train by Peacekeepers. Myra is already there. I stand next to her as Fawna rambles on about us listening to our mentor once she gets through the crowds and on the train. "Make sure to—Lily! Hello, darling," Fawna exclaims. We turn around and see our mentor. She smiles. "Listen to her!"

I roll my eyes. "Drew Reox," I say, going forward and shaking her hand. When I go back, Myra nudges me. "What? I'm a gentleman…sometimes."

Then we go off to the recap of the reapings.

**A/N: Now I'm sad. Writing Drew has reminded me and made me miss writing Nick, if you know who he is. Hmph. Look away now…and…just let Myra do the end.**

**Myra****: I apologize for wjjmwmsn5's sudden mishap in ending the program. I have no clue who this "Nick" is, so…I guess I send my condolences? *pauses* Oh wait! Nick diLaurnetis? From last year? Ohhh yeah! I still don't know who he is.**

**Nick: Review for me!**

**Scotty: Nick! You're alive!**

**Marcus and Olark: What about us?**

**Scotty: Nick is better. Where are you, Nick? It's Scotty, not Krumr!**

**Krumr: *sneaks up***

**Nick: Hon, I'm only in wjjmwmsn5's sad imagination. I'm sorry.**

**Krumr: Then why am I here? *puts down ax***

**Nick: Let's go, Krumr.**

**Drew: Wait! I missed him!**

**Myra: Let's go, Drew.**

**Marcus: Let's go, Scotty.**

***They all leave***

**Olark: I guess— **

**Wjjmwmsn5: Don't finish that. **


	4. Chapter 4: District Four Reapings

**A/N: Hello again, m dear readers! To those of you who reviewed last chapter, Nick came back to life and hugged you or hung out with you (if only I weren't writing this; he could've hugged me!). Your choice. But if you didn't review, Krumr came back to life and hunted you down. May the odds be ever in your favor. **

**Yes, I am done ranting now. **

**Wait, no, I'm not! (I've forgotten to do these): You know you're obsessed with the Hunger Games when you cried when the epilogue said, "But there are much worse games to play." Guilty! I bawled my eyes out (I know, I know; I do that a lot for THG-related things) because the sentence says it all, described the horror, made you picture it in whole (at least for me it did). And the series was over! **

**NOW I am done rambling. Review for Cinna and Cato (and Krumr and Nick and Aria and Midnight and Zander, to add my last SYOT into the fun)! Hope you enjoy:**

D4- 17- (Blessia Fornbrex)

Once I'm awake, I get dressed immediately. Outside my window when I open it is the sound of the waves crashing on the beach. The same beach I made Jack Donald a man on last night after sneaking out.

Once I saw Olark Ondonnel on that beach. On his Victory Tour. He had to stay in District Four because the train broke down. Everyone squealed and flocked him. I was going to sneak out to him, but I was frozen, and my mom caught me looking out the window, so that blew that. Plus, he's a year younger than me.

I go to my full-size mirror and look at myself in the wide-strapped dress with an empire waist. Blue fabric is gathered in the center of the chest and pools down. It's knee-length. I wear a pair of my favorite handmade rope sandals. I have a flower in her hair. My hair is done in a low side ponytail. I smile at myself in the mirror.

Tomorrow I think I'll make my father get me a new hairclip. I'm tired of my old blue one; that's why I'm not wearing it. I've had it for—what, a week or two? Wow. It's kind of old.

But today is the reaping. _I won't get reaped. And if I do, someone will volunteer, anyway,_ I tell myself, and nod. I go to the living room where my mother and father watch recaps of previous years' victors' chariots and interviews.

"Ooh, pretty," I say, seeing last year's victor's dresses. Sparks and turquoise things. But I still like Lottie Foust's "made-out-of-water" dresses better. And Luck's. Luck was hot. I should know. "I want a new set of hairclips," I order my parents when the interview is over, and they turn it off for the Games. "I mean, no one likes my other one and the color is wearing out _already_!"

"Sure, Blessia, dear," my father agrees, smiling.

"But we've to go to the reaping now, Blessia," my mother tells me gently.

"Poor tributes," I whimper. "Oh well. More outfits for me to watch!"

"Yes dear, they're usually quite pretty," my mother affirms, nodding, and then we set off to the reaping. I part with my parents so I don't look like an idiot sticking with my parents. That would be humiliating.

I sign in and go to my age section. When I get there, a bunch of poor kids surround me and I wrinkle my nose in disgust. "Ugh, great," I mutter under my breath.

The mayor goes through his speeches. Blah, blah, blah. Then the escort comes in. I'm glad they replaced the last one. She was fat and had a giraffe neck. This year it's a younger woman with tattooed, showy breasts, and a low, V-neck purple dress, outlined in blue, and blue is also the colors of her tattoos. She has long, knee-length blue hair and a purple-blue face. Her arms and hands are blue and purple, miss-matching-like. It's not pretty, but it's definitely better than the last escort.

"Welcome, welcome!" she spits in the microphone, her voice nasty and with too much accent. I think I like the mayor's rough, unused voice better than hers. Uch.

"Now is the time to pick one courageous young man and woman to compete to the death in the One-Hundred-Fifty-First Annual Hunger Games!" she continues. "May the odds be _ever_ in your favor! Ladies first, like always." She coughs, and if I'm not mistaken, I think she coughs up blood.

She goes to the side of the stage with the bowl with pink ribbon. Her blue heels click-clack. Then she is satisfied immediately with the first name her hand lands on. That's not fair. She click-clacks back to the microphone. Then, almost as if on cue, as soon as she breaks the paper's little black seal, it starts to rain. Drip-drops will now accompany her click-clacks when she reaps the boy. "Blessia Fornbrex!"

Wait…wait… as I start to understand, to put the pieces together, of who was reaped, I freeze.

"Blessia Fornbrex, dear!" the new escort calls into the microphone. Damn that _stupid_ accent of hers!

Blood burst into my ears. Not literally, but still. Peacekeepers start to escort me to the stage, but, like it is instinct—but it's not—I jab my elbows back at them. They push me forward anyway. Once I'm on the stage, I form one thought: _what?_

"Say hello, hon," the escort tells me. "Into the microphone."

This snaps me back. "What, isn't anyone going to volunteer?" Silence races through the crowd. "Wait! Isn't anyone going to volunteer?"

I loom for my mom. I can't see her.

"Boys are up!"

D4- 12- (Ryan Melly)

Hail, my five-year-old sister, says in my ear, to wake me, "Getty-etty uppy-duppy, bubby!"

"Hail!" I screech, getting up. "Don't wake me up like that!"

"Shutty-utty uppy-duppy," she says with a smile. I glare at her a moment, and then remember that today twenty-three people will be sent to their demise.

I hate the Hunger Games, and the Capitol. I wish they would just end! If I could, I'd end them, right here, and right now. If I could, I'd have ended them one-hundred-fifty-one years ago!

I put on a nice T-shirt and black dress pants. The Hail bursts in the door again and yells, "Mommy-ommy, Ryan-bryan is done dressy-essing!"

"Hail Melly, _stop_ talking like that," I plead. "Please!"

"Noey-oey," she says, starting got smirk.

I stomp out of my own room because Hail is getting so annoying, and I usually try to be nice to her because she's so young and innocent. But ever since she's started to talk like this…I just can't take it. She's been doing it for a week now.

But I'd take that over the Capitol's accent any day.

"Hurry, children," my father commands from the front door. "Ryan's almost late for the reaping."

We all head to the reaping. I go sign in, and the zap stings for a second as my finger's pressed against the paper. I go to my age's section. There, I see all my friends. I'm the leader of the group basically, pretty much. I stand by my best friend Jordan, who says, "Hey, Ryan, what's up, how's your sister, how's things?"

"Great, Jordan," I tell him, laughing, and turning to Stacy, who starts to say something ridiculous.

"I heard—"

"I'm sure you did, Stacy," interrupts Nelly sarcastically.

"Don't interrupt, Nell," Sam says. "It's rude, and maybe Stacy was _actually_ about to say something _intellectual _and _factual_ for once."

"Sam," says Jordan, raising his hand slightly. "What does 'intellectual' mean?"

"Don't encourage him, Jordan," I say.

The reaping starts, and our chatter quiets, but we don't stop talking. Not a lot of people stop talking, actually. I start to feel bad that two people may be about to be sent to die, and I'm standing here talking and laughing with my friends. But at least I deserve it. People think I'm annoying, but I'm not.

I'm not!

"I can do a back-flip better without any practice, I bet," I boast, interrupting Stacy.

"Stop. Interrupting. Me!" she squawks.

Then it starts to rain.

"Blessia Fornbrex!" is where we shut up. No one goes up. "Blessia Fornbrex, dear!" Peacekeepers escort a girl with long copper hair, blue eyes, and pale skin up to the stage. She's probably 5'7.

"Boys are up!" the escort roars in the microphone. My heart starts to pump as the rain soaks us all, and the escort's makeup runs wildly. _Ha-ha!_ "Ryan Melly!"

No. No, I never should've thought that! My fists ball up, and, since it's raining, I allow myself to cry a little, noiselessly. I'm terrified.

D4- 17- (Blessia Fornbrex)

A small boy, about 4'6, with steel-blue eyes and pale skin. His hair is mid-length and blond.

"Speak," orders the escort, whom is annoyed by her makeup and bored for lack of excitement.

"Uh…" Ryan Melly says.

"Good enough. Shake hands!" she snaps.

We do, and then we're taken to the Justice Building.

All my "friends" come in, and so does Jack Donald. But I just want them to all leave. Now. Because I need to apologize to my parents somehow.

Finally my parents come in after I block all the teens surrounding me out, and they eventually leave. My mom hugs me, crying. "I love you!"

"I love you, too, mom," I say, trying successfully not to cry.

"Come home, okay?" my dad says.

"I—I will, I promise!" I promise them. We all hug and then they have to leave before I can even apologize.

I go to the train, where Finn, my mentor, sits on the couch, eating a cookie. "He-llo?" I snap.

He turns around. "Hey! Come sit with me, Blessia," my mentor orders. "We've things to discuss so you don't die. He eyes me up and down. "Even though it's futile. You'll probably die no matter what."

D14- 12- (Ryan Melly)

My family runs in first. I hug my mother and father for a long time. Then I turn to Hail. "I'm so, so sorry for this morning," I tell her. "I love you very much; don't forget that."

"Come home. I'm not mad. I just want you to come home," Hail pleads. I give a sympathetic grin, as though she is the tribute and not me. "Come home."

"We love you," my parents say, and then I realize the Peacekeeper is there at the door, waiting for them to leave.

My friends come in next. We basically don't do anything. We just sit in silence around the room, enjoying the last minutes together, most likely. The silence says so much, it's a deafening silence.

Then when they have to leave, I go on the train, cameras flashing all around me, and I wish I had the guts to flip them off like Krumr Strongthews from District Twelve did last year. No matter how much of a killer he was, he was a rebel, too.

On the train, Finn Waters, my mentor, I know from previous years, gestures for me to join him and Blessia on the plush seats they sit in.

I sit across from them as they discuss foods they like and what it's like to win the Games. Like it's normal. They're talking so normally. It's heavy and sickening how easy, and I'm pretty sure this is one of those Career killer tributes and a mentor just alike I am sitting across from.

The escort come in, and says, "My name is Lolascalla Aralla Myrena Losaya Li, if you weren't paying attention at the reaping."

I about laugh, even through the circumstances, at her name. But I do say, "Sounds like a princess's name!"

Finn laughs. "That's what I said! Though your small and won't win," Finn says, which makes me hate him a bit, "I like you, kid."

**A/N: Review, now! So, love it? Hate it? Tell me!**


	5. Chapter 5: District Five Reapings

**A/N: I have many, many plans that have been working up in me for this chapter. Because of my ideas, this reaping will not have just one or two POVs, but three or four! So, yeah. Sorry for the long wait and enjoy!**

D5- 12- (Sam Ryans)

Kalli, my older sister, and my guardian practically, wakes me up. I wake up with a start.

"Calm down, Sam," she says. "Just me." I sit up as she is about to leave. Then she turns around, hanging onto the door frame, and informs me, "Come out when you're dressed. Mir is here."

She closes the door behind her. I get up and get dressed quick, because I want to see Mir. Mir is my best friend… and my girlfriend. The title makes me smile. I get dressed in a light blue t-shirt and black jeans. Then I rush out of my room.

In the living room is Mir and Kalli. "Hi, Mir," I say.

"Hey, Sam," she says.

"Why don't you two go to town and play with other waiting for the reaping?" Kalli says like we're seven.

"We're not little kids, Kalli," I say.

"Okay, then go hang with your other friends," she tells us, turning around. "Mom and Dad won't be home today. Back at the hospital."

Our mother has a mental disorder and sometimes has to go to the hospital, and our father always has to help her. That's why my sister's like my guardian.

"I don't want to go," I state.

"Sam, you have to _explore_," she insists, turning back. "Go on. It'll be fun with Mir and you can make new friends and see new parts of the district!"

"I don't want to, either, Kalli," Mir addresses kindly. "I'm not in an exploring mood. Not today."

Kalli nods, understanding. "I understand."

Only they would know about the reaping. I don't; it's my first year. But it's Mir's second and Kalli's fifth. I'm really scared about it. I don't want either of them to leave me, and if I am reaped, I am sure to die! And if Mir's reaped, it's not like I can live without her! And Kalli is my only real family anymore, since I can rarely see my parents!

"Just go outside," Kalli orders. "I'm cleaning."

Mir and I go outside and sit under a tree. An apple tree, to be exact. An apple suddenly falls, and I jump up to get away from it. It hits feet away from where I sat, but still; if I hadn't moved, the wind could've blown it to me or something and then what?

"We should go. To the reaping," Mir tells me, still bright and happy 'to be alive,' as she says.

Hopefully we'll be alive in the end of the day. I'm scared.

D5- 13- (Miracle "Mir" Rawlins)

I wake up quietly and dress in a black dress and black flats. All I want to do is see Sam on a day like this. Reaping day. All the Games are good for are ripping families and friends apart. Just like they did years ago for my brother that I never met. I was born four years after his death in the Games, and between his birth and mine, my mother had three miscarriages. I'm the only child of hers who's made it.

I go outside my room and see my mother. And the time. It's still an hour until the reaping.

"You ready already?" my mother asks, washing her hands and setting a plate of bread on the table. I sit down and eat quickly. Then I get up and before I can tell my mother where I'm going, she says, "Going to Sam's, huh?"

"Yeah. See you after the reaping," I tell her.

I only have five slips in the bowl. _Only?_ I think.

I take a deep breath and head out the door, smelling the fresh air and smiling. It's beautiful. I'm grateful that I live here, in District Five, where the air _is_ fresh, unlike some districts like District Eight.

I go to Sam's. There, Kalli, his sister, opens the door. "Hello, Mir," she says, stepping aside.

"Hello, Kalli," I greet, and sit down on the couch like it's my couch back home.

"Sam will be out in a moment," she says, and departs from the room and down the hall to his room.

Soon Sam is out here and he and Kalli argue calmly. Finally, to conclude the argument, I say,

"I don't want to, either, Kalli," I address kindly. "I'm not in an exploring mood. Not today."

"I understand," Kalli responds. "Just go outside. I'm cleaning."

Sam and I do and sit under a tree. We sit there a while as I think. I remember last year when the Scotty Nelson and Tommy—Tommy something went in. Scotty came out.

Sam jumps at an apple. _Poor Sam,_ I think. _Someday, I'll make sure he isn't so afraid._

But not today. Today it is perfectly normal to be afraid, especially if twelve. His first year, my second. We're lucky, though. Or I am. I could be the one who died last year in the hands of District Twelve. I wouldn't even have anyone's arms to die in, like the girl last year did with the boy from Ten. Because if I did, they would be Sam's arms, and one: I wouldn't be in his arms, and two: Sam is _not_ going to the Games.

We got together, Kalli catching up soon. When we get there, we all sign in, and then each go to our different sections.

If Frederick was still alive, he would be next to me. Frederick was my only friend, but then he was beaten by Peacekeepers last year because he didn't come to the reaping. Then I met Sam.

The escort, a new one, starts after the mayor finishes his speech and reading of the victors, ending with Scarlett—Scotty, as she's made it clear that she likes to be called so—Nelson. "Welcome all!" the escort exclaims in her twinkly outfit. It's green and her wig's long and blue. Her skin is sunset orange and her heels are neon yellow. "My name is Matallia Gleam, and I am happy to say that I am District Five's new escort! May the odds be _ever_ in your favor!" She goes to the bowl rimmed in pink, and sticks her hand in. She comes out with a name. Written carefully on the paper is a death sentence.

That death sentence was sent to Miracle Rawlins.

D5- 15- Victor/Mentor- (Scotty Nelson)

A girl with black, shoulder-length hair and hazel eyes, and pale skin comes up to the stage. My tribute. She needs me now.

Then it's time for the male's name. I beg with every inch of me that it isn't Marcus. But things never work out quite right, do they? So my heart sinks, knowing that whatever I did the Capitol will never let it fall, when the escort reads, "Marcus Daybew!"

And so he starts to come up to the stage. I try to give him a weak smile, but it fails. Alison and Summer both simultaneously find my eyes, and theirs are worried. They each say, just like mine, "Marcus can't be a tribute!"

"I volunteer!" a voice calls. I am almost thankful, until I see who it is. It's a little kid! He has red hair in a buzz cut and dark, dark brown eyes that are nearly black. He is pale, pale white, and small and thin. He's like 4'6.

Marcus leaves the stage, and his gray eyes flutter with worry for the little kid. Marcus had a chance, but this guy. I don't know what he was thinking, but whatever it was, he must've had real motive for thinking and going through with it.

D5- 12- (Sam Ryans)

I have my motives. Mir is my motive. What life would I have without the girl named Miracle Rawlins?

"What's your name, darling?" asks the escort.

I say, softly, "Sam Ryans."

"What, honeysuckle?" the escort says.

"His name is Sam Ryans," Mir says into the microphone for me.

We shake hands and are taken to the Justice Building. In there, I sit on the red velvet and become terrified. Just as I get more and more scared, Kalli bursts in the door.

"What was that?" she demands, furious.

"I volunteered," I tell her, the words tasting ugly in my mouth. I can't believe I volunteered.

"I _know_," she snaps. "_Why_, exactly?"

"M—Mir was reaped," I explain timidly.

"That isn't a reason, Sam! Sam, do you realize what you've done? When I say to be more social and get out, I don't mean be social with tributes that will want to kill you or to get out of the _district_ and into the _arena_." Through her anger, she starts to break down. Her fists go from clenched to balled-up in her eyes, and her knees go from straight to the ground. Her elbows hit the floor and she starts to cry. "Sam, you know you're all I had left? With Mom and Dad and all, you're all I got, Sam. Why'd you have to leave me?"

"Mir, Kalli," I say. "Miracle Rawlins."

"Miss, you're time is up," says a Peacekeeper at the door, and he takes her out. No, he carries her out, because she was still on the floor.

I choke out, "Kalli." She comes running back.

"What?" she asks softly.

"Tell mother and father I love them," I beg. "I love you."

"Miss!"

And before I know it, I'm lost and on the train.

D5- 13- (Mir Rawlins)

My mother comes in and hugs me immediately. Tears almost fall and she says, "Shh, honey. Everything's going to be okay, okay? I promise you."

"How can you promise me?" I ask, strangling the tears away.

"I just can, Mir," she tells me. "Please believe me. Do you believe me?" She's frantic, and nothing like herself. "Say you do, Miracle, my miracle. Please, my miracle. You're my miracle, my survivor, Mir. Say you believe me."

I don't. For anything else I would. But now, here, I don't. "I do."

"Thank you, my miracle," my mother says, and the Peacekeepers drag her away.

I am taken to the train where Scotty, Matallia, and Sam are. "I'm Scotty," Scotty says as I pass by, sticking out her hand.

I brush by her and go to Sam who is practically cowering in fear. He hugs me and I hug him in return.

"Separate them," Matallia orders from behind me. Hands grab me and other hands grab Sam. They pull me away and then I see sorrowful eyes of an Avox. They almost say 'I had to' themselves all alone, with no words needed.

No words are needed in the situation. Sam and I are going in, and one of us is coming out. We both know that one of us has to.

Or does he think we'll die together? If I had to die, I'd want it to be by him.

"Sorry, Scotty," I say, straightening my legs and holding out my hand. He's just a bit shorter than me so he hides behind me.

"Is he your best friend?" she asks.

"More," I whisper softly. "Say hi, Sam." I giggle when Sam shakes her hand as if his might fall off when it touches hers.

"Marcus is one of mine," Scotty tells us.

"Oh" is all I can say. One of us has to die like this, with Sam and me tributes, but if Sam hadn't volunteered, this girl's best friends would have to go in. And by my sudden need to bring out my best friend, I know that if Marcus and I were tributes, I wouldn't be the aimed-for tribute to come out for my mentor. This somewhat makes me feel sick for no obvious reason.

Well, I am about to see the blood of twenty-some or something tributes spill across an unknown arena.

**A/N: Love it? Hate it? Tell me in reviews!**

**When I started writing this, it was hard, but then I erased it because I didn't like it, and now I've knocked it out in less than a day easily and actually feel somewhat confident of it. **

**Well, thank you to all the submitters and those who've just read it and not submitted, too! **

**Until next reaping—District Six—my friends,**

**~~wjjmwmsn5**


	6. Chapter 6: District Six Reapings

**A/N: We're halfway through reapings! This one will be shorter, though, because it only has one POV, due to the fact that the other District Six tribute is a bloodbath. Poor him. **

**And anything Aureliana mentions about hating the two-name things is trying to be in her character, because, personally, I love the idea.**

**Oh, and, just to warn you: Aureliana likes to cuss, and so does her father. Dalton and Melanie and the others are quite neutral on that. Melanie, I'd say, probably never does. But Aureliana does.**

**Onto D6:**

D6- 15- (Melanie/Aureliana Dove)

My eyes open slowly as I hear the mockingjays whistle outside my bedroom window. They sound bright and kind, inviting. There's yelling outside my room and I clench my teeth to keep Aureliana away.

You see, I have multiple personality disorder, caused by my abusive father. He is the one yelling outside my room somewhere in the house. Probably at my brother, Dalton. Dalton is Aureliana's only _true_ tamer.

Dalton bursts in the door, saying, "Don't get out there. Don't go out there. Don't go out there." He takes a deep breath. "He's angry, Mel." I nod my head in understanding. "How's you morning been?"

"I just woke up," I tell my brother. He gives me a curt nod. "Well, the reaping is in fifteen minutes. I'll clear him out."

Whenever I'm in high-pressure situations, pressured, or am in dangerous situations, Aureliana comes out, and on reaping day, when my father is angry, Aureliana is guaranteed to come out.

I slip on a simple orange and blue dress quietly and step out my room to the gorgeous silence of my house that only comes true on reaping day. It's one of the only benefits of the day.

I look in the mirror at myself and my long flowing black hair with red highlights and brown eyes. The mirror is quite high up, though I don't know why, so I can barely reach it even though I'm 5'6.

I head to the square and sign in. Then I go to my section, a few people shoving me out of their way. Once I reach my age section, I stand and wait for the reaping to completely begin. It finally does and the mayor says his speech. Then he reads off all the victors, most of them being morphling addicts.

The escort, Shine Bright, a plump yellow woman, walks up to the stage. "Hello all! I am sad to say that this is my last year as an escort. Next year District Six will have a new one. But, anyway, now, reaping day is the time to reap one courageous young man and woman to compete in the One-Hundred-Fifty-First Annual Hunger Games and honor their district, District Six. Like we always have done, ladies shall go first!"

Her hand slips in the little bowl with pink ribbons. It comes out with one small slip of paper. "Melanie Dove!"

I start to cry, but then Aureliana breaks in.

I wipe away the _stupid_ tears that "_Melanie_" shed. It's dumb calling me two names for the personalities. It should just always be Aureliana. I walk confidently on the stage. I can win this thing. I know it.

"Melanie Dove, everyone!" exclaims the stupid ass escort.

"It's not 'Melanie'," I snap.

"Then what's your name?" she asks.

For some reason I just want to hit her. So I do, and the Peacekeepers come on the stage and pull me back from this Capitol bitch. "Well," she gets out. "Males, shall we?"

She walks across the stage and her shoes annoy me as they make noise. All. The. Way. Across. The. Whole. Entire. Stage. Then she draws out another slip of paper and reads, "Apollo Ephraim!"

A boy with shaggy brown hair and pale green eyes makes his way to the stage. He is around 5'4, I guess. Oh, who cares? He'll be dead quick. He just looks the part of one of those tributes.

We're ordered to shake hands and then we're finally taken the Justice Building. I'm expecting the fucking slow escort to hold us back for some stupid thing as I walk in the door of the large building. I go to the room in which I'll be visited.

First in is Dalton.

"Aureliana," he says humming-like. "Calm down, Aur. Where's Melanie, Aureliana?"

"It's tedious that you have to call me two names," I snap, putting on an even more sours expression and crossing my elbows. I could care less if Dalton visited me or not, honestly.

"Aur, just breathe," he instructs. I roll my eyes, sigh, and do as he says. "Good. Now, are you fine?"

"I've been better obviously," I say.

"Sit down. Just breathe until you've calmed all the way down and are Melanie."

"I'm serious about the two names, Dalton!"

But I do as he says again. And Aureliana buries herself away and Melanie brings herself from hiding, and my facial expression relaxes, saying it worked and just because Aureliana held such an annoyed, scrunched-up face.

"Dad's not coming, is he?" I ask Dalton.

"I don't think so," Dalton replies.

Soon Dalton has to leave and I have no friends to come visit me because of the whole multiple personality disorder. I am escorted to the train where my mentor, a different from last year because they switch every year, sits on the couch and calls me over.

"Where's Apollo?" I ask softly.

"Whoa!" he exclaims. "You're different from the girl who was reaped!"

"That was Aureliana" is all I say. I'd rather not explain more. "Where's Apollo?"

"I think he's running around his room," my mentor that I don't know the name of answers with a straight face, indicating he's not lying. "I'm Darrald, by the way."

"Hello, Darrald," I respond. Bright enters the room, and Apollo is behind her.

His eyes are wide, but, when he looks at me, they shrink, as if relieved. "I'll beat you!"

I don't even know what he means.

**A/N: Love it? Hate it? Tell me in reviews! Thank you to anyone who has read this; tribute submitter or not! **


	7. Chapter 7: District Seven Reapings

**A/N: Since it's the weekend, I'd like to knock out as many reapings as possible so we can get to the story, so here's yet another reaping!**

**Also, though, I will not have District Eight Reapings, due to the fact that both tributes are bloodbaths. So I'll just tell you who they are now: Sahra Lemo, 14, and Colin Crowe, 15. **

**District Seven Reapings:**

D7- 16- (Tasi Merkava)

I throw the ball for my dog, Hope, and she runs off to catch it. She passes through a lot of trees and runs back, her golden Labrador fur flying as she runs back from the thick thing of trees.

This is probably the only forest they haven't cut down in District Seven. I hope they never do cut it down; it's the only place thick enough for Hope and me to play with her ball and just get out of the district. Not literally, of course.

She pants as the ball lands next to me. "Yes. Good girl," I praise and rub her head. "But we've to get back. Reaping day."

When I get home I see my father. Well, he's not my real father. My real father abandoned me because my mother died when I was born and blamed me for it when I was five. When I was eight, a man named Haloti Merkava who is a lumber boss took me in. Ever since he has been "father" to me, and I have been "son" to him.

"How were the trees today?" my father asks.

"Leafy," I answer.

He turns around, a grin playing on his face. "Ha-ha, funny."

"Thanks," I say. "I'll be here all week."

Rolling his eyes, my father orders, "Get dressed for the reaping."

I take Hope to my room and pet her. Then I take her tag from her collar and place on my bed. I get dressed in relatively fancy clothes and take the dog collar back from the bed, sliding it into my pocket.

"See you later, Hope," I whisper, rubbing her ears.

I exit my room and then the house. My father goes elsewhere as I sign in. The little shock makes me pull back my finger because I was shocked—I was staring off into space—and the Peacekeeper in front of me snaps, "Stay _still_! Give me your finger again." And not kindly.

I guess I've always had anger inside me. Maybe not _always_, but after my father and all, I've had one. And at times like this, it takes a lot to not let it show. Because if I let it show, someone could get hurt, and I don't want to do that.

I go to my age section and wait as the mayor starts and finishes his speech. Then the escort, Tracy Mishclaine, a woman who always makes her appearance as a different color and always in a tree color, comes up to the stage. This year's color is neon orange.

"May the odds be _ever_ in your favor! Ladies first!" And so the reaping begins.

D7- 18- (Temari Hyuga)

I wake up to the sound of my sister, Kurenai, fretting around in my room for me to wake up now.

I tiredly awake and yawn. "Mhm?" Then I see the time. I have ten minutes to be at the reaping. "We're late!"

"Yeah," Kurenai says, and rushes out of my room so I may dress. I dress in a red and black tank top, black long-sleeved shirt, black leather jacket, black and gold earrings, a black butterfly necklace, and a black and silver scarf. I tie up my long black hair into a ponytail in a flash and run out. "Come on!" calls my sister.

My mother walks outside with us, but my father doesn't. He died when I was nine.

At the reaping, Kurenai and I sign in just in time and she goes to the thirteen-year-old section as I head to my age section. When there I see my friends that are my age. Orihime Inoue, Max Pett, and Jordan Cal. Jordan and I are the only girls that are eighteen of our friends.

"Hi," I whisper to them.

They turn to me and Orihime says, "I thought you were going to be late and get in trouble with the Peacekeepers."

"Kurenai woke me up just in time," I tell him.

"Good old Kurenai," Max says and we laugh quietly.

Finally the escort starts the reaping. Eventually she finally gets down to business and says, "Ladies first!"

I really hope it's not one of my friends or my sister. Or me. The escort goes to one side of the stage with a bowl. Then she floats her neon hand in and plucks out a name.

"Kurenai Hyuga!"

My mind starts to do everything but focus. But four words stand out among the rest. I end up saying those four, simple, deadly words: "I volunteer as tribute!"

Before Kurenai can even make her way up to the stage, I am on it and the escort is asking me my name. "Temari Hyuga," I tell her. I tell all of Panem.

"That was your sister," she states. "Well, males come next!" She goes over to the boys' names. "Tasi Merkava!"

A very tall, much muscled boy with long, curly dark brown hair and brown and green eyes makes his way up to the stage. We are instructed to shake hands so we do. Then we're taken to the Justice Building.

First in is my family. My mother, my sister, and my twenty-one-year-old brother, Aidou, come to me. They hug me and my sister thanks me. Aidou says, "Just… try hard, okay, little sister?"

"Okay," I say.

My siblings leave but my mother stays. She strokes my hair to behind my ears. "We've lost so many, Temari," she whispers, her voice crackly, breaking. "Please. I can't lose another."

I nod and then my mother has to leave. Then my friends come in. Lily Kurosaki, Orihime, Tatsuki Drake, Ruka and Rima Liming, James Pack, Max, and Jordan. We all exchange words and then they have to leave.

It feels like we had no time at all together.

D7- 16- (Tasi Merkava)

When I am in the Justice Building, only one person comes to visit me. The lumber boss I call father.

"You'll do good, son," he says certainly.

"How? I'm not fast or anything! I walk with a limp because of when I fell off that tree and broke the bones and ligaments or whatever!" I burst.

"You want to know why?" he asks.

I nod. "Yes, I very much do."

"Because you're a survivor, aren't you? Surviving for years before I got you, and only a few with the company of the dog," he explains, and then is taken out of the room by Peacekeepers because his time is up.

Then I'm taken onto the train, waiting and waiting and waiting all alone for my district partner. My mentor. My escort. An Avox. Somebody.

But sometimes you just have to face it, like now, when you're alone.

So I must face it. I'm alone again.

**A/N: Love it? Hate it? Review and check out IAmBeautifulBecauseOfMyFlaws (CallingMeFakeWontMakeYouReal's new name)'s stories and blueyoshguy's SYOT! **


	8. Chapter 8: District Nine Reapings

**A/N: Hey! Sorry for the super long wait but, well, in my other story, I'm about to crown the victor _WITHIN_ four chapters (for those of you who've read it, there's a huge hint-like thing!), and I'm excited for it, so… yeah, but I'll try to update more frequently for now on because the reapings are almost over, can you believe it! **

**Anyway, I hope you enjoy, and, seriously, I am begging you to check out blueyoshguy's SYOT! I want it to start soon! I have three tributes in there!**

**Also, like usual, check out IAmBeautifulBecauseOfmyFlaws because she is an amazing author!**

**I feel like almost every tribute except D4's tributes have a 'can't swim' thing as a weakness because of lack of ideas for weaknesses lol. But I won't complain, because I do that, too.**

**District Nine reapings!:**

D9- 18- (Gray Hager) a brown tee shirt, a black blazer, black jeans, and brown dress shoes.

My sister plops herself into my bed and whispers for me to wake up in my ear loudly. If I didn't know her, without looking at her, I'd say she sounded six right now, instead of sixteen. But I know her. And when I was sixteen, I wasn't like her. When I was sixteen, I realized I was gay.

"I'm up, Stacy," I say. "You know what day it even is?"

"Sunday the third," she jokes. "Okay, okay, I know. Why else would I be up so early on a Sunday?"

"To _work_," I say groggily.

"I don't work on Sundays," she informs with an air of superiority. "What about you, Mr. my brother?"

"_Clever_." I roll my eyes and tell her to get out. When she doesn't I push her out. I get dressed in a brown tee shirt, a black blazer, black jeans, and brown dress shoes. I leave my room and trail into the kitchen where I sit at the counter as Stacy eats and sigh, "Reaping day."

"Don't you have to work today, Gray?" my father asks, walking in the kitchen.

_I completely forgot!_ "Oh, yeah," I say, rushing out the door.

At work this new kid and I are assigned to carry apple crates. It reminds me of the time my friend Leon and I was doing so and dropped them because he was goofing off. We were whipped because Peacekeepers tripped and Leon was never the same. I'd say he changed for the better, but now he never really talks a lot and closes most people off.

This kid starts to mess around and I want to punch him in the face.

Finally it's time to go to the reaping. There, I sign in and the Peacekeeper—oh, so luckily it's one of the ones who fell on the apples whipped me!—grabs my finger tightly. Tighter than I ever remember.

I see Stacy in the line next to me. She smiles softly like she used to when she was younger and I still had to bail her out of things she got into. I still do, but I don't need to anymore. Then I had to. Now I do. But it's not necessary.

I go to my age section where I wait. When Polka Dot—the ridiculous escort who always sports different colors of striped suits each year, this year is pink and brown—comes up to the stage and rambles on. Then the mayor replaces him and says his boring speech. Then Polka is back and says, "Well. Hello! Ladies, like always, are first!"

He excitedly goes to the girls' bowl. His hand flies in like a mockingjay and flies out the same, but with a name. When he talks, though, he doesn't sound like a mockingjay. That would be an insult to the birds. But he sounds like a jabberjay. And that's exaggerating the greatness.

"Artemis Nightheart!" calls Polka Dot. She has a slightly darker complexion and jet black hair in a ponytail. Her eyes are stormy gray. "Come, come, dear!"

D9- 15- (Artemis Nightheart)

Today is the day I am to steal. Even though it's reaping day. What other choice do I have?

I sneak out of the house, for my family doesn't know I steal anymore. I was caught a while back and beaten. If my family knew I still stole, they'd kill me before the Peacekeepers could. So I let them assume I work harder in the fields and get more money.

I slip out the door and walk to the butcher's, my hood over my head. I slip inside like an early-morning customer and try as hard as possible to stay unnoticed. I wait until the shop-owner—a round, greasy-haired woman—leaves the counter to do who knows what. Then I slip behind the counter and grab a half-prepared ham. I take off my hoodie and wrap it around the meat. Then I carry the jacket as nonchalantly as I can, pretending as if I'm just carrying a balled-up jacket.

No one notices, because barely anyone's out. Not today. Not here. I pass the loaders or whatever they call themselves working, but they're so preoccupied that they barely notice.

When I get home, I finish preparing the ham and place in gently in the refrigerator.

Then I go to my room and get dressed in a simple blue frock and tie my hair in a ponytail, like usual. Then I wake Eva and Mithra, my ten-year-old twin sisters. Mithra, in the bed closest to the window, yawns and says, "You're up early."

"When is she not?" Eva asks and laughs, sitting up and starting to walk to the door, but just sitting on my bed, the one closest to the door, which means Eva's bed is in the middle.

"On reaping day," Mithra says seriously. She's right. I'm never up early on reaping day.

"Shut up. I have ham in the fridge and the quicker you two shut up, the faster you get some," I say with sass, but they know I'm kidding. "Kidding. I do have a ham, but it's for lunch after the reaping."

We go to the living room where my mother and father already are, sitting on the couch. "Your sisters up?"

"Yup, just woke them," I answer and they file in behind me, still in pajamas. My mother orders them to change and so they do. Then they come back and we hurry to the reaping. There, I leave my family behind and sign in. My finger is zapped; blood drawn, and then I go to my age section. My friend, Lydia Tiell, is next to me and we chat idly until the escort, Polka Dot, starts to ramble.

At first I think the mayor said his speech really quickly, but then I realize that Polka Dot's just anxious and was trying to cut to the reaping and _then_ have the mayor say his speeches. The mayor says his speeches, and then Polka returns. When he finally says, "Ladies first!" or something of the like, I stiffen.

"Artemis Nightheart!" My mind rolls like kids do down a hill. Spinning in circles and circles, it wants me to cry; _I myself_ want to cry. "Come, come, dear!" I barely hear the escort say this as I sternly try to put a brave face on and stride up to the stage.

Then the male name is drawn. "Gray Hager!" By the look on his face as he walks up to the stage, I can just tell he's thinking _"Oh, shit!"_

Gray is muscular and around the upper five feet with brown hair and brown eyes. He comes up to the stage and shakes my hand—harder than necessary—before the escort even tells him to. When I passed the Crate Carriers or Whatever people, I think I might remember seeing him.

They take us to the Justice Building and Lydia beats my family in.

"W—Win, aren't you?" she stutters. "Or—or make something of yourself. Or make something of yourself _and_ win."

It might've sounded rude to some, but I know what she meant.

She has to leave, and my family piles in. My father and mother quietly stand by, looking at me like I'm a ghost. Mithra and Eva hug me as they cry. I push my way over to my parents, throw my arms around them, and allow my sisters to join to. I try—I really do—but it's inevitable. Tears start to fall.

To make sure my sisters don't cry more, I say, with a sniffling, crying-like voice, "At least I still got you the ham for lunch."

My mother wipes the tears from my eyes with her sleeve and kisses me on the cheek. She goes to the door. My eyes follow her. A Peacekeeper is kindly waving my family over. I hug my sisters and then my father is the only one left. He places a necklace in my hand and closes my finger around it. He hugs me and, into my hair, he whispers, "You don't have to win to make us proud. Just make us proud."

Then I'm taken away after they are to the train. I have one question:

_Am I already lost forever?_

D9- 18- (Gray Hager)

My family comes in and says goodbye, and my mother is crying too hard into my father's shirt to say a word. Stacy hugs me. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry for every time I've been a burden," she says. "Thank you. Thank you for always being there; for always being my big brother. I love you, Gray. Have this." She hands me a silver bracelet. "As your token."

"Thank you. I love you, too," I say and she steps back and sits down, tears crawling like ants down her face. Rain starts to patter on the window. "I love you, too, mother." She looks up, her face red.

My father and I say our goodbye and then they leave. Leon comes in next.

"Hey" is all he says. Then he hugs me, patting me on the back, and says, "Stay away from the whips in training." I laugh hollowly and so does he.

"I'll try," I promise him.

Then he leaves and I'm taken to the train. Artemis is there and so are Polka and our mentor, Madison Miller. I heard everyone hates her because she's loud and rude and obnoxious.

But she's my last shot.

**A/N: I've never even heard of the book, but whenever I typed "Artemis Nightheart," I wanted to type "Artemis Fowl." I looked it up and it's a book! I've never even heard of it and it was so familiar!**

**Love it? Hate it? Tell me in reviews!**


	9. Chapter 9: District Ten Reapings

**A/N: Okay, now I'm excited for reapings to be over so the story can get started! Because as much fun as reapings are, they haven't been m favorite thing in the world. Not since my last SYOT when I had never written twelve reapings from about twenty-four—minus the bloodbaths—perspectives.**

**Speaking of which, we have very few bloodbaths. No, no one else will be put in the bloodbath, and no, I will not allow anyone to _volunteer_ their tribute for it. I actually like the minimal amount of bloodbaths. Ultimately, it makes for a longer, more dramatic story. **

**So, on to the long, more dramatic story with District Ten Reapings. I have big plans with these tributes!**

D10- 18- (Maxmilian "Lion" Leone)

The alarm clock wakes me with a jolt. I jump up and get dressed in nice clothes. In the hallway I pass my eleven- and seven-year-old sisters, names Alexandera and Suzanna respectively. Also, farther down the hall, I pass my sixteen-year-old brother, Tristan.

"Want to spar?" he asks. "Couldn't hurt on reaping day. Little more training."

"You make us sound like Careers," I tell him as he starts to follow me.

"But we're not," he defends. "But that's what I'd do in the arena. Join the Careers."

"Me, too," I tell him, exiting our house.

"But, you see, there's a difference," Tristan adds, "in that. They'd actually let you in."

I toss him a long stick and we spar like we have real swords in our hands. "Wait, wait, wait," I say, putting my "sword" down. "I forgot." In my best Capitol accent, I finish, "May the odds be _ever_ in your favor!" Then we spar again until I win. Because that's what I do: I win.

"We ought to get ready and head off," Tristan advises. He goes inside and gets dressed. He gets my parents every year because I go early to meet with Erik—my best friend—or Emma—my girlfriend.

This year, since Emma and I are "_on_" on the reaping, I am to meet with her. I take her bracelet out of my pocket, forgetting it was there. I put it back and run to the square. It doesn't take too long to get there. Once I am, I sign in and see Emma already in her section, frowning.

"Hi," I say, and she turns around.

"_Hey_," she snaps. _What's she mad at now…_

"What?" I ask, trying to hide my annoyance unsuccessfully.

"That! That, exactly, Maxmilian!" she says. "We're through."

I nod and walk to my section where Erik is. Erik smiles and says jokingly, "Over _again_? You two have broken up and gotten together more times than they've held the Hunger Games!"

"Shut up."

People start to file in as the male banana—don't ask why that's his choice of dressing, because I don't know; it's honestly the wildest Capitol outfit I've ever seen—jumps on stage. Then the mayor begins his speech.

Eventually Bonanza Bonanzo—the male banana—starts his speech. Finally he says, "Ladies first and may the odds be _ever_ in your favor!"

His hand goes in and his hand goes out. This year I don't have to worry about Emma's name being reaped. So I don't. And I didn't need to.

The girl—Addelynn Demetriu—has long red hair and green-blue eyes. She's small, about 5' 4", and she's very graceful looking. She's not very muscular, which is not going to help her at all in the Games.

_That's good for the male tribute,_ I think as the escort announces, "Maxmilian Leone!"

D10- 18- (Addelynn Demetriu)

Not a lot of people know the truth of the Demetrius. Not many know that I am _not_ the mother of Liam, River, Faye, and Lillian Demetriu. I can see why they'd think that, what with my raising of the four. But no. I am not the mother. The mother died in the birth of the youngest, our dear Faye. But that is a story for another time. Right now my biggest goal is to survive the week.

But the fact is: I have fifty slips in there. But this year's my last year. So it's fine. Right?

I hear a young scream in the twins' room.

I hurry to the room and Lillian is screaming her little heart out. I wake her up as gentle as possible. River is up next to us and Faye and Liam are at the door. "Shh, guys," I say. "River and Liam, take Faye to my room and stay."

They nod and River says, "May I stay?"

"No, River," I tell him. "I'll call for you in a moment."

I turn to my five-year-old sister. "What's wrong? What happened?" I ask.

"I saw Daddy die again, Addelynn," she says with her little voice. "Why did they both have to die?"

"Because, Lillian. We live in Panem," I say honestly. "I have to get dressed. Reaping is soon. But if you see him die again tonight, crawl in with me and Faye, okay?"

She nods and I pat her head. I leave the room and go to mine. "Go on. Get out of my room," I say with a smile at my siblings and they leave.

They're all worried for their big sister.

I get dressed after they leave in a deep purple shirt that reveals one shoulder but has two sleeves. It's loose everywhere except the waist, where it's tight, but despite that I said it's "loose" and "tight," I didn't mean unfitting. Put on a brown, mid-thigh, suede skirt. Lastly, I put on gold—not real gold—gladiator-like flat sandals, with a slightly heeled heel, but barely.

Then I gather my siblings and drop them off at the square with my best friend, Dru Quintrell's, family. Like I do every reaping year since my parents had died.

I go sign in and stand by Mickayla and Dru, my friends. Alexis—our other friend—is only fifteen, so she's in another age section.

"What's up, Addy?" Dru teases. He knows I hate it when he calls me that.

"Nothing, Dru-ey u-ey," I counteract. "And don't deny that your mother doesn't call you that. I heard her."

I laugh. And naturally, so does Dru and Mickayla. Dru says my laugh is infectious and that I can make the world smile.

But we're just friends, trust me, and neither of us see each other as more than that. But I think he likes Mickayla, which is exactly why I said his mother's nickname for him in front of her.

Suddenly we're talking of how many slips we have. When it comes to my turn, I say my number. Even though I have an apprenticing healer job n the district since I finished school early, I still have tons of slips in there.

Bonanza starts the reaping after the mayor's speech.

All I have to say about who was drawn is: Odds suck.

I go up to the stage because the escort called my name. My heart races for my family. The oldest of the siblings not including me is six-year-old Liam! I—I have to win. Because if I don't, they'll all die. Even if I become full of sadism in my rain of killing to get back, I have to. The feat is too high to reach for some, but I won't—no, can't—give up.

"Maxmilian Leone!" the escort calls. The boy has long blond flowing hair, much like a lion's, and a dirty blond beard. He has dark brown eyes. He's buff and at least six feet tall. We shake hands and then are taken to the Justice Building.

In there, Dru and my siblings race in. "Addelynn, you have to know I'll take care of them in every way I can. They'll live with us until you get back." He pauses. "Because you _are_ coming back."

"Yes," I affirm, nodding. Then I drop to my knees and hug the crying Faye just in front of me. "Don't cry, Faye. I'll come home." The little three-year-old nods.

Then when she and I let go of each other, Lillian, River, and I hug. "Please," Lillian whispers. I nod.

"It could be worse," River jokes, and I smile so he knows everything will be okay.

The two five-year-olds move away. Then Liam gives me something. It's my father's wedding band. One day, Liam had been looking in the practically undisturbed room that used to be our parents while I was playing with the twins and Faye. He was looking through the "Memory Drawer," the drawer filled with our memories of them, and he brought it to me, asking what it was. I told him, and put it on a chain for him. He literally never takes it off.

"A token," he says. "I'll keep them okay when Dru can't, I promise."

"Deal," I whisper to him and stand up. Then I find myself in Dru's arms.

"Go get them." I nod and then the Peacekeeper tells us it's time to go. They all start to leave, and then Dru has to hold Liam back as he tries to get back in here with me.

This sight—the sight of all my siblings leaving and one trying to get back sets something off in me. Like landmines. So get them I shall.

D10- 18- (Maxmilian "Lion" Leone)

Erik comes in first. We idly chat of my strategy and I say I'll be a Career.

"Yeah, do those," Erik says awkwardly. "I know you'll win."

"Me, too," I say.

Then he leaves and my family comes in. Alexandera and Suzanna say goodbye and run our crying. My parents do the same, except for my father.

"Careers?" he asks. I nod. "Sword?" I nod. "Just… don't let anyone fool you, okay, son?"

"I won't," I promise him.

Then Tristan and I are the only ones left.

"See? It didn't hurt to spar this morning," he says. I allow a grin to satisfy him. "See you soon."

"Very soon," I add.

"Very soon," he repeats.

Then he leaves and I'm taken to the train. On the train, I see the twenty-year-old, Aaron what's-his-last-name, my mentor, flirting with what's-her-name from my district. He tells me to sit down on the couches with them, and I make sure to sit on the farthest from his chair and her separate one, too. Then our escort comes in with his accent. I stand up to go to the restroom, putting my hands in my pockets. And I feel Emma's bracelet.

_I completely forgot it was in there_.

I am determined to return it to her. In person.

**A/N: Love it? Hate it? Tell me in reviews!**


	10. Chapter 10: District Eleven Reapings

**A/N: Sorry for the delay-like wait for this chapter. I've had major District Eleven writers block… it doesn't mean the tributes are bad; it just means I've had writers block for the story.**

**You're going to love this escort. Not the male banana, but the ridiculously annoying male plant, Dede Eyey. He is—other than Polka Dot and Bonanza Bonanzo—my favorite escort. **

**Check out IAmBeautifulBecauseOfMyFlaws! **

**But anyway, let's. Get. These. Reapings. DONE. **

D11- 17- (Rogis Trakholm)

Fregh, my only friend, jumps up from under the tree across the yard and calls, "We forgot about the reaping! Twenty minutes!"

We jump up. He goes to his house and I go to mine. In mine, my sister/mother, Louise, says, "We forgot, too. Now hurry if you don't want to be shot." I grunt in return and just throw on a gray shirt and plain brown pants. I go back outside my room, and Louise asks, "Ready?"

With fifty-six names in there, why would I be ready? But if it means showing my biological father that I still care, so be it. It's not like I am to be reaped, right? This is a district filled with more people than any, and it's a poor one at that.

"Sure," I answer.

I'll explain the "sister/mother": When I was born, I had a birth defect, and my mother died. I was bullied for years afterwards because I was so small. But when I turned eleven, I had a growth spurt and beat up those who bullied me. My father—an overly prideful man—disowned me because of the embarrassment. Left me to die. Fregh helped me through that, and then my sister and her husband adopted me when she was twenty-three, and I was thirteen.

Ever since I've lived with them: Josef and Louise. And every year, so my father knows that there are no hard feelings, that I still care, I get fifty tesserae slips and send them to him. Though I should probably use them to support Louise, Josef, and I, I don't.

Anyway, we rush to the square, where Louise and Josef stay in the back, close, and afraid for me. I go to my section after being the last to sign in, and try to find Fregh, but end up just standing between a petite little seventeen-year-old with long, wavy locks and a large, furious-looking boy who towers over even me. He looks like he's an adult, not a teenager. He looks like he doesn't belong in the Games.

But you never know.

The escort finds his way to the stage in yet another plant costume. But this year it's not just a plant, but an orchid. A white orchid, for which I would want to name my daughter if I am ever to have one someday.

Anyway, he—Dede Eyey—squeals like a girl and says, "May I introduce your mayor, Mayor Dobbadothee!"

It's actually Mayor Donnertee, but no one ever thinks to correct Dede Eyey. I would if I knew him. It's annoying and peculiarly child-like, as if he's doing it purposefully.

The mayor goes through his speech and smiles falsely—we all have a loathing for Dede's annoyingness—as he returns the attention to Dede Eyey, whom is "all the way from the Capitol!"

"Thank you, thank you!" he calls. "Well, may the odds be _ever_ in your favor! Ladies first!"

"Roslynn Ellis!" A girl goes to the stage. She has long dark brown curly hair that reaches about halfway down her back and has dark green eyes. She's skinny and around 5'6—8", maybe.

Then the males' names are being dug into.

D11- 17- (Roslynn Ellis)

I exit my room, yawning. I have time to spare before the reaping, thankfully. Most years, we're late.

In the living room, my nineteen-year-old brother, Aiden, is sitting on the couch, drinking something from a mug. He looks over at me, leans down, pats the couch next to him, and leans back, sipping his drink again. I sit down reluctantly. He has a lecture coming or something.

Before he can start, I say, "So, Dad didn't get off work for the reaping?"

"He could have," Aiden tells me flatly. "Didn't, though. He'll be at the official thing, though." I nod, indicating that whatever he was going to say he can say. "I want you to wear one of mother's dresses or clips."

Immediately, I say, "No." Our mother died when I was nine from an illness that we didn't have the money to take her to any healer—whether a doctor or an apothecary—to help her.

"Yes, Roslynn," Aiden snaps. "Honor her, will you?"

"She's dead, Aiden; it wouldn't feel right," I explain.

"You're wearing it, Ros, and that's that," Aiden tells me, setting down his still half-full cup that I now see is full of water. _Wonder how he got that stuff,_ I think.

"I'm going to go wake up Rosemary, okay?" I say softly, getting up, and starting to go before Aiden and I get in a fight again. And on reaping day!

"Nah, I'll do it," he says. "You pick out a dress. The clip's on Dad's headboard." My scowl makes him add, "It's like shopping. You like to do that, right?"

No. No, I don't. But so he doesn't burst, I pick out and slip on light purple dress that reaches my knees. To hold back my long, brown hair, I put on mother's diamond clip and scowl once more. I hate to scowl—such an unpleasant expression—but when Aiden gets his way like this, sometimes it irritates me, because it means what I believe in lost.

Rosemary comes out in her little reaping dress, skipping along without a care in the world. I go to my room quickly at the sight of Aiden and Rosemary together, reminding me of my silver locket with a picture of Aiden and Rosemary in it. I slip it around my neck and hurry back out. I pat Rosemary's head.

The little twelve-year-old says, "Promise you or me won't go?"

"Swear of it, Rosemary," I say. "Now come one. Dad's in the square, isn't he, Aiden?"

We go to the square. Rosemary and I sign in. Then Rosemary goes to her age section, and I to mine. I stand by Blaine and Casandra, two of my friends. Casandra and I have been friend since we were seven.

Before I know it, the mayor's speech is over and the escort is going drawing names. The orchid tromps his way to the girls' bowl and sticks his hand in there. I have tesserae for everyone in my family. So many slips in there say '_Roslynn Ellis_'.

It can't be me. It can't be Rosemary. It can't be me. It can't be Rosemary. It can't be me. It can't be Rosemary. It can't be me. It can't be Rosemary. It can't be me. It can't be Rosemary.

But it's too late as Dede Eyey calls, "Roslynn Ellis!"

I go up to the stage and plant my ground. _Me?_ Me. Me! _Me?_

"Rogis Trakholm!"

A boy from my year at school makes his way from the crowd. He's muscular and has brown eyes, dusty black hair, and is around 6'.

Rogis and I are forced to shake hands, which we do, and then taken to the Justice Building.

In there, I am still ruminating over it. I was picked. I tell myself this many times before I can full understand what's going to happen. I'm going into the Games. The Hunger Games.

Then in come Aiden and my father and Rosemary. Rosemary hugs me, tears dripping down her cheeks. "You promised, Roslynn," she says. "You _swore_."

"I know. I'm so, so sorry," I tell her. "It'll be okay, though. Okay?"

She nods.

I turn to see my father right behind me, and he says, "I'm sorry, Roslynn. I… if I were a better father, we would have enough money that you wouldn't have to get tesserae."

I hug him silently, because there's nothing you can say to that. I almost cry, but then I remember I can't. It's indefinitely important that I don't cry. I've watched enough Hunger Games to know what happens to those who show they're crying. Unless it's your strategy, you die.

Aiden smiles at me hollowly. "Fight with them like you argue with me."

I think that's better than anything a mentor could tell me to do. I smile back and we hug, and then they all have to leave.

After they do so, Casandra, Blaine, and the sixteen-year-old Crissy come in. I immediately am in Casandra's arms, hugging her as she cries for me, and I tell her that I'll come back, even though I probably won't. I pick up "I" and "volunteer" as she rambles and assure her that it's good that she didn't volunteer.

Crissy and I say goodbye similar to Casandra and I, but with less years of friendship backing it up.

Then Blaine and I give each other our small goodbyes and I'm taken onto the train.

_Bye, District Eleven._

D11- 17- (Rogis Trakholm)

Louise and Josef are beaten in by Fregh, who casually walks in and plops on the couch. "Hear they have great food there," he says. "I'd say rob them blind with all the food you take."

I almost smile. Almost.

"I'll shovel it out the window, Fregh," I tell him sarcastically. Eventually he has to go. We say no more after my last remark. So in silence he leaves, and I wonder if I'll ever see Fregh again. As Louise and Josef come in, I catch a glimpse of something in Louise's hand. "What's that?"

"Mother's gold locket," she answers, planting it gentle on my outstretched hand. I keep a tight grip on it as I say my goodbyes. Then I thank them for everything they've done for me—from saving me to making me part of the family again. The Peacekeepers take them out, but Louise resists a bit.

I expect to be taken to the train next, but then my father comes in. He looks drunk but I know he isn't by the way he says, "That tesserae I get?"

I nod at him. "For you," I say. "Fifty-six names in there were mine."

"Odds suck, boy," my father says. "Sometimes you just got to hope that next time you aren't going off to die when you got bad luck." I nod, and he pats me on the back as I leave.

I am taken to the train, where Roslynn Ellis, Dede, and the mentor—Jason Young, I believe—are waiting.

"Come. Sit," Jason says. "We've much to discuss."

**A/N: How you like it? D12 will be up soon, and then train rides, Opening Ceremonies, the three days of training, Interviews, Ally groups and tribute statistics chapter, and then the Games! **

**Okay, so who likes Cato/Katniss? I'm curious…**

**Review!**


	11. Chapter 11: District Twelve Reapings

**A/N: Sorry to say, but the author's note is all important below the four lines of "Last reaping!" So, it would be wise to read it all. Not required, but highly recommended.**

**Last reaping! Last reaping! Last reaping! Last reaping! Last reaping! Last reaping! Last reaping! Last reaping! Last reaping! Last reaping! Last reaping! Last reaping!**

**I have every POV figured out up until Day Three in the arena! **

**Last reaping! Last reaping! Last reaping! Last reaping! Last reaping! Last reaping! Last reaping! Last reaping! Last reaping! Last reaping! Last reaping! Last reaping! Last reaping! Last reaping! Last reaping! Last reaping! Last reaping! Last reaping! Last reaping! Last reaping! Last reaping! Last reaping! Last reaping! Last reaping! **

**Sorry if these turn out short. I'm excited the reapings will soon be over and we can _actually start_ the story. And I may… well, get excited and write short. But it just means a longer POV next time.**

**I just heard "tired and hungry" on TV, and I was thinking of how tired and hungry I am lol.**

**Well, here we go. Hope you enjoy and check out blueyoshguy, Rikachan101, and IAmBeautifulBecauseOfMyFlaws!**

**Wait, wait, wait! I have a challenge for you!: I have decided who will say the famous line in interviews: "When death arises, remember what we sacrificed." The tribute creator knows that it's they're tribute, so you, creator of the tribute, guess wrong or not at all. But guess between these four of who says it. If you guess right, something good will happen…:**

**A. Chaste Christensen**

**B. Artemis Nightheart**

**C. Myra De La Rosa**

**D. Addelynn Demetriu**

**You know it's a girl… And you know it's not your tribute if you own three out of these four tributes… **

**It's not required to guess, but remember, if you guess right, something good happens… **

**And we are getting close, so I'm bringing back arena voting:**

**'Sketch the girl who imagined' came up with these great ideas, so let's thank her!:**

**A.** The arena is giant and they shrunk the tributes  
**B. **They are in a really big castle  
**C. **They're in a no gravity vortex  
**D. **They are in a huge circus  
**E. **They're underwater and they are genetically enhanced so the are mermaids and mermen  
**F. **They all see their district so it's different for everyone so they have different obstacles

**Haver's POV will be rather short, but that will be explained in the arena… you'll know why in the arena. I'm going to do his whole experience in one short POV because he's not as important as the rest of the tributes. And Bella Diaz is back! My favorite mentor! She _only_ speaks in four-word sentences because she's insane.**

**Sorry for the super long author's note, but I'm done now! So, here's the last reaping!:**

D12- 17- (Haver Grale)

Today is reaping day, which means the Games are coming. I rather like the Hunger Games. They're quite fun to watch and interesting to see how the tributes go through the far-away place where everyone is rich and organized, and no one is grubby like those from the Seam. Or even from the town. In District Twelve, the Grale family is the only family that isn't a scummy family.

I put a nice suit on and accompany my father—the mayor—to the stage as my mother goes to the crowd. I sign in and return to the stage until everyone's filed in. Once everyone is, I go to my age section and wait until the escort shuts up and starts to pick names.

A twelve-year-old is drawn. She has chocolate brown hair and her right eye is sea blue but her left eye is grassy green. She is sort of tan.

Then the escort does his thing with his claw-knuckles again and a name is punctured through his claw. It's too punctured for the escort to read, though, so he draws another with his hands, trying to avoid his claws getting in there, too.

I can feel that every boy stops breathing for a second because it could be them. But it can't be me. So I just enjoy the moment when the world stops. And indeed, that is truly the moment when the world stops completely.

For me.

"Haver Grale!"

I make my way _back_ up to the stage, and plant myself next to the Claw, as I've decided to call him. Then I am taken quickly to the Justice Building, and since my father must stay out there, he doesn't visit me. I don't know where my mother is. And my brother doesn't come either.

He's always been an ass, anyway.

I'm taken to the train quickly and meet Bella Diaz and the Claw is on the train, too. "Trell Uelle," says the Claw, offering me a hand.

I hate the Games now. How can they send _me_ away? Oh well, I'll just have to show the Games all I'm made of, and I'm Haver Grale, so I'm made of a lot.

"No thanks… sorry," I say to Trell's offering.

"But of course," he says, laughing his Capitolite laugh.

"Stay and stay alive," Bella says. "Find water and run. Stay and stay alive. I am Bella Diaz. I am your mentor. I line up sponsors."

"Okay" is all I say, backing up. "Let's watch the recap." _More like: let's meet my kill list._

**A/N: Sorry for his short POV. He'll have POVs, but short ones. Now Chaste!:**

D12- 12- (Chaste Christensen)

I wake up in my little Seam shack, panting from all-too familiar nightmares that plague me every night since my parents died. Torturous screams, the smell of blood, the air of death. _All-too_ familiar.

I throw clothes on and run through the meadow of the beauties called flowers. Primroses, rues, dandelions, daffodils. The meadow is my favorite place in the world because of its peacefulness. It reminds me of when my world was peaceful.

I slip under the fence like I know tons do. I think that maybe both of last year's tributes of Twelve did so. Well, the girl did, at least, because I remember her with her victims in the Hob. I don't hunt like she did. I just find plants and things I can find, and I never go far. Just close enough to do what I need, but if a Peacekeeper comes near, run back.

I start to look around, to hunt for the plants. I don't need dandelions, because after this, I am going to get some from the plethora in the meadow.

Eventually I find edible plants, mint leaves, edible berries, and edible roots. Not that much of anything, but enough to get me through the week if it had to. After all, I know how to starve. But in District Twelve, don't we all? Except the mayor and his family and the victor?

I go back to my shack slowly after gathering the plethora of dandelions that I promised myself. And just to make the dark shack not _as_ gloomy, I pick a couple daffodils, rues, and wild primroses. I bundle them together and run home.

Back at the house, I put all the edible plants in the tiny cabinet and the pretty ones on the shelf next to the door. I sit down and am silent for a while, thinking of past and present. On reaping day, though, there is not thinking of future, because you don't know if you have one. But it's not like I can change it. Luck and chance is the only things that know. It's not like I could fix it if I were reaped. It's like how I can't fix how lonely this place is because my parents died and I had to move here. Or how people mess with me because I live alone. Or how the Games kill people every year. We just have to get through another year every year and things will be fine.

But they won't; not really. Because then when January 1st comes again, we have to get through another year until December 31st, and then everything's fine for a while, like space stops. Then when it starts again, it's January again and nothing's fine. It's a tedious, idiotic cycle. But the only thing I can do is smile like nothing's wrong and be nice to everyone. Because the years that we have to get through never end, and if you spend those years cursing that you exist, you're wasting the time you could be smiling and trying to make things right.

I stand up and undress and redress in my reaping clothes. A light blue dress with dark blue ribbon tied in a bow in the middle. Black flats. And my hair in its usual pigtails with blue bows tied on them.

Then I leave the house and wander around the Seam, avoiding the reaping. Though I don't dread it because I can't do a thing about it with my tesserae, I don't want to go yet. It's my first year, after all, and most twelve-year-olds have people to get them through the fear they have inside them on their first year of possibly being sent off to die. I have fear for this, yes, but, like I said, I don't dread it with every morsel of my being. It's something we can only help by uprising, and no one's going to do that again.

Having watched the Games for years, I know what to do at the reaping, even though I have no one to tell me what to do. I go sign in with a drawing of blood and then go to my section slowly.

The looks on everyone's faces are grim. I look around as the people of my humiliated district eat the scene up like I am. People cry. Parents hug children. Siblings part from one another. Those who haven't yet signed in sign in. This is what the eleven other districts and the Capitol will be watching, holding their breath to see their competition, their son's, daughter's, friend's, sister's, brother's, and, maybe, father or mother's competition. The Capitol people will be holding their breath to see their precious Games' pawns.

I bet it's huge. The Capitol. I don't particularly like them, and would take them down if I could, but since I haven't the chance, all I can think about the big city is that I bet it's huge. I've seen it on TV. It looks like the wrappers in the window of the sweet shop. Or the cakes and cookies in the window of the bakery. The bakery lost a son last year to the Hunger Games. I bet he didn't care how big the Capitol was. He was too busy flipping them off to look around. Not in a bad way, either.

The mayor starts his speech. Long and dull. Speeches about the rebellions, the uprisings, and the consequences. First rebellion: Hunger Games. Second: Death of the Mockingjay and anyone associated and brutal, brutal Quells for eight years in a row that weren't even Quell years.

I like to listen to the speech every year. No one does. I bet that no one even remembers the second rebellion existed because they don't listen. Worrying and terrified to be reaped, they shut it off most likely.

Finally, the Treaty of Treason and all the other speeches the mayor says are over and the escort, Trell Uelle, smiles and comes up, his claws menacing but the rest of him looking like he could come from the town of this very district with his short blond, sandy hair and sky blue eyes.

"Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor!" Trell trills. He smiles as he says that ladies go first and tramps over to the bowl that my name is in. As he reads the name, I'm trying to decide how many slips I have in there. "Chaste Christensen!" Enough to get reaped.

I walk up to the stage, and am almost… relieved. This is the chance I need to start another rebellion. I just need to win. How will the Capitol like it when a little girl from Twelve wins the Hunger Games? Not very much, I presume.

"Haver Grale!" Trell calls.

This shocks me a bit. Haver is the mayor's son. How was he picked? He's a typical town kid, with his blond hair, blue eyes, and scrawny but not starved build. Haver and I am told to shake hands, and we do so. Then we're taken to the Justice Building.

I expect for no one to come. But someone does. And not just some_one_, but some _people_. They hand me a small bear. One shows me a hidden pocket-like thing in it. The three say it has specific instructions inside, and to be discreet when using the instructions. No one can find the pocket but me, so it should make it by as a regular bear for my token. Just a lost, little girl's last remnant of home. Her stuffed bear.

I thank them and the three leave the room that they just whispered rebelliously in.

I'm taken, then, to the train and see Bella Diaz, Haver Grale, and Trell Uelle. "Stay and stay alive!" they all say at the same time, not noticing me. I start to laugh at the sudden outburst, and wonder why they are saying it all at the same time.

Haver and Trell turn around, but Bella just keeps muttering, "Stay and stay alive."

"Wh—…?"

"We were going over strategies…" Haver says defensively.

"Sit down, my tributes," Bella says. I sit down on the opposite couch that Bella and Trell sit at. Haver sits on the one between Trell and Bella's and mine. "We have to discuss."

"Discuss what?" Haver says. "Stay and stay alive. I don't know what it means, but I get it."

"We have more, too," Bella states. "Of course we do. Why would we not? Just that simple phrase? You'll die on that. So I say it. I say it again. Then you understand it. Then you need less. Again I say it. Then you absolutely know. Then no more advice. No more needed then."

"Um?" Haver says.

"Stay and stay alive," Bella says. "Say it with me. Stay and stay alive. No more advice needed. No more needed now!"

I think she's insane.

**A/N: Did you like it? Next chapter: Train Rides!**

**Review?**


	12. Chapter 12: Train Rides

**A/N: Train Rides.**

**Train Rides! Train Rides! Train Rides! Train Rides! Train Rides! Train Rides! Train Rides! Train Rides! Train Rides! Train Rides! Train Rides! Train Rides! ****Train Rides! ****Train Rides! ****Train Rides! ****Train Rides! ****Train Rides! **  


**Can you guess what chapter this is? (Don't look at title!)**

**Yes, it is train rides; how did you guess?**

**Another couple question: Foxface and Marvel or Clove and Marvel?**

**And: Katniss and Cato or Clove and Cato?**

**I'd go MxF and KxC. **

**And for anything any escort *cough*Polka*cough*Dot*cough*: I just had to write it. Effie's voice saying "That is _mahogany_" has been stuck in my head all day. **

**And Blessia's chicken was my lunch. And the only reason her POV is really long is because I spend a while just explaining sauce in her POV.**

**Now, the chapter is on!:**

**Title: Train Rides**

D3- 16- (Drew Reox)

Fawna smiles at us as Myra and I sit on the couch. We stare at her uncertainly. Lily is in her room, sleeping. Fawna says she's had a rough week.

"Fawna," I start. She looks excited that I'm speaking. "Can you just… not stare at us like that?"

She looks rather annoyed now, and stomps off, her blue highlights bouncing around her wildly. She goes to the next car and slams the door behind her. She's a real temperamental escort, for sure.

Once we're sure she can't hear, Myra and I start to laugh. Fawna and our situation are so ridiculous that the laughter is rather insane-sounding. She looks up at me and I catch a glimpse of a silver coyote necklace. When our laughter dies down, I flick her necklace. "So, allies, miss coyote?"

"Why not?" she says. "I want a big ally group."

"Sounds like you want the Careers, then," I say jokingly.

"Definitely not," she snaps. "And… miss coyote?"

"I nickname people a lot," I inform her. "That's your name. Coyote. Like it?"

Myra rolls her eyes and goes away from the sitting room and towards the dining room. I see her wave me over to the dining room and we sit amongst the colorful delicacies, all of which we both want to eat. I take a blue thing I have no name for, a green thing, and some type of stew I have no name for with meat I have no name for in it. I really have no clue at all what I'm eating. But I eat it all. It's all very rich and delicious. I pile whatever it is that Myra has just gotten on my plate after that, too, and then start to talk again.

"Makena begged me not to kill you," I state simply, matter-of-factly.

Myra says, "What'd you say?"

"Told her to keep the families together, no matter what happens in the arena," I admit. "Told her to not stop being friends with Luna. Told her not to get angry with Luna for what might happen between you and me."

"Well, no worry for that, because we're most likely allies, right?"

"Makes sense to me. I mean, our families are friends. So it makes sense to be allies. Maybe keep some trust between my family and the De La Rosas," I explain.

"I get it," Myra says. "But I'm still not writing it in stone that I am your ally."

"Course not," I agree. "I'm not doing that for you to be _my_ ally."

"See you tomorrow in the Capitol, Myra," I say, because I'm full from stuffing my face with food and tired from the long, _long_ day.

D9- 15- (Artemis Nightheart)

Though we're enemies, Gray and I agree on _one_ thing: we hate Madison.

Yelling, screaming, and demanding more, more, more from us! We are doing all we can to please her, and she just won't be pleased, no matter what. It's all we can do—Gray and I—to not just tell her to shut up sometimes. And Polka Dot—oh, he just makes everything worse.

It makes me uncharacteristically angry. But I have perfectly good reasons to be angry, don't I? After all, I might be dead in a matter of weeks. And even if I don't, I see what happens to some victors.

Take Belle Diaz as an example. She's gone insane. I've seen her Games, and in her interviews, she was perfectly sane; cheery, even. Smiling and be charming for the Capitol and whatnot.

But I've also seen Madison's Games, and she's always been this way.

But enough ranting of that.

I exit my Capitol room car and see Gray, getting frustrated with Polka because he's trying to make things somewhat pleasant for us, instead of being serious and getting straight down to business, like my district partner. You see, Gray and I don't particularly get along.

And that would be an understatement, even.

It isn't normal in little, quaint districts like ours for tributes to have a natural loathing for each other. Last year, Bodhi Dawson and "Scout" Devereux were practically brother and sister. But Gray and I don't argue, or get on each others' nerves, but there's a way that he gets to me that just makes me want to have a reason to be angry, though I usually don't.

And for him, I don't know, but I think he would feel the same.

I sit between two empty seats as Madison comes and sits at the table with Polka, Gray, and I. She huffs, annoyed, and snarls at Polka, practically growling because he's taking over.

"Listen to me," Madison snaps loudly. She's a very loud person. "Don't disappoint me tomorrow! I've only known you for three hours, and—"

"Madison, hush," Polka says. "We're all starved. I suggest that if you've nothing to do but rant on these poor tributes that will be shown the Capitol, and then have it ripped from them, then you should eat in the sitting car. But don't ruin the plush chairs or the mahogany!"

D4- 17- (Blessia Fornbrex)

Finn is disappointed after having talked to Ryan and I. Lolascalla has tried to tell him that we are just too excited for the Capitol to think. He rolls his eyes every time. Now it is dinner time, and hours have passed since our "chat."

He had said, "_Great_! I got a pair got a pair of clueless tributes this year! Clueless, spoiled brats. How am I to prepare you two? District Four is going to lose to some poorer, stupider, lesser district full of crap again! I don't want to have to pretend to like some of these idiots like Scarlett Nelson and Bella Diaz again next year! But then again, if one of you wins, I'll have to deal with you every day in the Victors' Village."

When he gets annoyed, I have learned that he rambles on. And on. And on.

I trudge to the kitchen. In there is a feast, and my eyes light up. I've never had so much, and it all looks delicious. I want it all! But I know I can't have it all. There's much, much too much to even have a bit of everything. But I try to get a little of everything, and end up with four plates in front of me, six bowls, seven sauces and spices, and three cups. And that's just what was laid out. I'm sure that if I asked, an Avox would make me more.

I eat one thing at a time, starting with something called "chicken over the coals." It smells like wood, and has a District Seven flavor. I know. I've had a "Seven meal" before. But anyway, the chicken looks burnt, but tastes delicious, especially with something called "barbeque sauce."

I gulp down some coffee, and have lamb stew with cheese rolls and green beans. I have ribs with a green, slimy sauce, and some snails with turnip sauce and salt. Then, because I can't finish all four plates, I decide to just have desert and push my plates aside. Ryan, whom is sitting next to me, grabs them.

For desert I have English toffee cheesecake and a few oatmeal and macadamia nut cookies. Then I drink apple juice and "hot chocolate," and collapse back in my seat because I'm so full.

I guess I shouldn't have had all that hot chocolate. Or apple juice. Or cheesecake. And maybe two less cookies. I guess I should've lain off on all the chicken over the coals with so much barbeque sauce. Maybe I should've set my snails and ribs.

All that I'm left with after all the regret is lamb stew with green beans and cheese rolls on the side with coffee. I don't regret having that.

"Now. Are we good with anything?" Lolascalla asks gently. "Since Finn is being such an ass"—she glances over at Finn—"I'll mentor you _and_ be your escort tonight."

"Thank you," I say softly to Lolascalla. I feel so guilty about being so rude to my parents, I feel like just being quiet for a while. "I can be a great actress and be manipulating."

"No weapons?" she asks, baffled. "Oh, well. I can work with that. What about you, Ryan?"

Ryan looks up from my plate with a huge smile. His smile quickly fades. "Oh, yeah. Um... I can… I can swim, and… use the environment maybe?"

"Of course, of course," Lolascalla says. "By the way, call me Lola, please. I've always hated 'Lolascalla'."

"Sure thing," Ryan breathes, looking down to his food again, and devouring what's left of the snails. Then he moves onto a soup the color of barf.

The stomach of that kid amazes me. Where does it all go? To his feet?

Finn slams down his glass, hard, shattering it, and slams his chair into the table after getting up. He goes to his car, his fists obviously clenched, and slams the car door behind him.

To annoy him, I think I'm going to start calling him "Slam."

I know it's not advisable to annoy your mentor, but if things keep going the way they are with Lola, she'll deal with my sponsors because she will know he won't. At least, he won't for me.

_Note to self: Act extremely innocent with Finn, and always call him "Slam" like you think it's his name._

I smile at my plan.

If things go accordingly, I should have some real fun in the Capitol.

D5- 12- (Sam Ryans)

Scotty sits us down after dinner and stares at us like she has no idea what to do. Maybe she doesn't.

"Well…" she starts. "Well, I'm new. I have… just… what can you do…?"

"I can run…?" Mir almost asks. Scotty nods, and something crosses her eyes when looking at me.

"You know who you two remind me of?" she says, and tenses up a lot at whatever her remembrance is. It's not good, I'm sure, if every time our mentor looks at us, she remembers something she wants to forget. "Zander and Midnight." There's a long pause before she adds, "Sorry. What can you do, Sam?"

Shyly, I tell her, "I can hide."

"Okay, good, you're speaking," she says, her voice tight. I haven't since right after I got on the train. Mir didn't even try to push me to speak. She left me alone and I left her alone, for we're both terrified out of our wits. I am more than her, though, as I always am. But you'd think she'd be, since I was the volunteer. "Uh… weaknesses?" She pauses, and must think we are uncomfortable when she says, "Sorry to be so nosy. I have never done this before… I'm trying to be as thorough as I can so I can try to work out a… a sort of system to help you."

"How?" Mir questions. Scotty looks over at her with shock or something, and Mir smiles shyly. "You seem really nervous by this all."

"Oh. Well, I am, somewhat. I have the lives of two kids practically in my hands," she says. I wonder what that must be like. I guess I'll never really know, since there's no possible chance for me to win. But maybe one day Mir will know the feeling. "Well, after training, I can deduct what you've done wrong and right after you tell me what happened, and help you…?" Scotty seems very confused. That can't be good.

D10- 18- (Maxmilian "Lion" Leone)

Addelynn hates me. Not that I care. But she does.

I think it's because I've gotten it out of the way that I am going to try to be a Career, or maybe because she's scared of me, or maybe it's because she thinks I'm too cocky. Maybe it's all of those. I just know that, since she hates me, I hate her.

Bonanza can really put down some food, too, let me tell you that. It's repulsive, even for a "district citizen," and even one from District Ten. If that actually makes a difference. Which I don't think it does.

During dinner, Aaron continues to flirt with Addelynn, but she either doesn't notice, or deliberately ignores it. Addelynn does not take anything from the table, but asks for a sandwich to be delivered to her room, and leaves.

"Maxmilian. Be a good boy and go see what's wrong with Addelynn," Aaron says.

"Nah, don't think I will," I say, and leave for my car.

In my car, I set the alarm thing or whatever for early. I want to see the Capitol as soon as we arrive in the city. They'll love me and my "enthusiasm" for them.

When I wake up by the incessant sound of the alarm, I push the blankets from me; my eyes closed, and wonder why my bed is squishy. I open my eyes and for a fleeting second, I wonder why the ceiling says '_District Ten male tribute car_.' Then the events of the reaping flood into view. My hand slips to my pocket, and I sigh, feeling her bracelet.

I sit up, exhausted, and trudge to the bathroom. I step into the shower groggily and sit on the white floor of the shower. I turn the shower on and almost fall asleep as the water rains down on me. It feels like something it surrounding my skin, though…

_My clothes!_

I stand up and stumble out of the shower, looking down at the soaked clothes. _Great._ Annoyed, I take off my clothes and go back under the water. After a while, I get out again, dress in a black shirt, blue jeans, and black tennis-shoes, her bracelet around my wrist, and walk to the sitting room, my hair still soaking wet.

They'll definitely love me.

**A/N: Maxmilian was a bit too OOC, wasn't he? Oh, well.**

**I would've gotten this to you earlier in the night, but I was distracted by… *drumroll* …Insurgent. **

**It came today and I just couldn't wait any longer to start it! But it reminds me so much of Mockingjay… I mean, they're (spoiler) staying in another faction (like D13) to stay safe from Erudite (like the Capitol) who is trying to kill all Divergents (like Snow to Katniss) and all Abnegations (like Snow to the districts). And then there's _Johanna_ Reyes, and how Tris just came from the faction with the symbol of fire, and the fact that they want her to _escort_ them through the city (like Katniss through the Capitol). And the fact that Tobias tried to strangle her in Divergent. Maybe it's just me, or maybe it really is a lot like The Hunger Games Trilogy. Oh, well. I've been anticipating this book since I finished Divergent! It's super engrossing, and I already read the last page, but I don't know what it meant; just that the book ends on another cliff-hangar! I never had to wait for a sequel before. Every other book series I've read, I've read them all at once. I don't like waiting like that. And after I finish Insurgent, I'll have to wait for Veronica Roth to write and publish the next book (which I am guessing to be named Convergent; if it is, I'm going to be going around to my friends saying, "I knew it!" just to confuse them… I'm going to have to remember to do that) and I'll have to wait for it again!**

**Oh, well. I'm only on Chapter Five. I have got a lot of reading to entertain myself with from that book before I wait for Convergent. **

**Anyway, review! **


	13. Chapter 13: Training Day One

**A/N: _NEW__REMINDER (WRITTEN AFTER THE... YOU KNOW):_ _I LOST THIS CHAPTER AND THE OPENING CEREMONIES, SO I HAVE REDONE THIS CHAPTER, BUT WILL NOT REDO OPENING CEREMONIES UNLESS I AM REALLY BORED SOMEDAY AND IN THE MOOD TO REWRITE THE CHAPTER. SO, THE ONLY DIFFERENCES ARE FROM PARAGRAPH 6 OF RYAN'S POV AND DOWN._  
**

**I am here yet again! Sorry for the long, long wait for the chapter. Homework and trying to finish my other fic… Oh, well. Training is here!**

D7- 16- (Tasi Merkava)

My eyes drift open. When I see the sign on the ceiling that says "District Seven male tribute," I start, close my eyes, and try to go back to "sleep," away from this horrible dream—or, nightmare. But no matter how hard I try, I am wide awake, which means that this is real, that the past few days were real, that I'm not in District Seven anymore.

I get up and dress in the clothes laid out for me—a black and orange shirt with a "7" on the back and on the left shoulder. The pants are black, too, and quite plain. I dress quickly and hurry out.

Breakfast goes quick, since I barely pay attention and scarf the food down vigorously. Barely noticing the others, I finish my breakfast and am hurried to the elevator almost immediately after the last scrap of food is down my throat. Temari and I are probably the last in there. The tributes are already standing around the head trainer and listening intently on further instructions.

"Exposure can kill as easily as a knife," the Head Trainer concludes. She steps away and the tributes scatter like rats around the large, dark, deadly looking room. Weapons are everywhere. So are the future dead. At least, twenty-three are. Maybe I am one of those…

I go to the station with a nice and deadly ax. Though I doubt I'll be able to kill anyone, I might as well prepare for it, after all, right? Just in case I really _need_ to. In a life or death situation, you know. This _is_ the Hunger Games.

I pick the ax up and stare at the sharpened blade a while. Then, raising the ax, I stare intently at the center target waiting for my ax to meet it. I throw it and hit the dummy's head. Right about now, there would be a sickening gush of blood and a horrible, horrible cannon. There's a laughing somewhere behind me—the Careers, definitely—and I ignore it. I pick up another ax and move to a different dummy, not bothering to retrieve my last ax. I am about to throw my ax again, when a voice speaks behind me. My ax flies out sloppily and narrowly misses the girl from District Five who was passing by the station.

"I said," says a Career as I turn around, "are you interested in being our ally?" I am looking into the eyes of the District Two boy. "Are you?"

"No," I answer simply, and brush passed him, aiming to go to a survival station they wouldn't bother with, no matter what. But when I reach it, I am surprised to see the boy from District One there, observing the plants book. I leave the station and search around for a station I am more certain than ever that they would not visit. I am out of ideas. I thought that, maybe, I could at least avoid the Career until the arena. I guess I was wrong.

D2- 17- (Drake Flint)

Blessia doesn't know a thing in the world what to do. Hunter is always annoyed with us, or not paying attention. The only other _acceptable_ Career other than me here is Collette. And I really want another male in the alliance, or I'm going to kill myself the second we reach the Games. I just can't take another conversation on how "amazing Blessia looked in Opening Ceremonies!"

I grab a sword and goes up to a dummy to take out my anger on. I slam the sword in the neck, yank it out, and repeat the process over and over. Eventually Blessia approaches me with a skip in her step—a provocative skip, like she's trying to _make_ me look at her. I, annoyed and wanting to intimidate her, slice the dummy almost in half. She only comes faster.

"So, Drake. Do you have a…?"

"Yes. Yes, I do have a girlfriend," I lie. Looking disappointed, she sighs, and I, unsympathetic, stab the dummy. "Maybe someone else that we might obtain soon doesn't. Why don't you go check?"

"Who is it?" Blessia snaps. "It's Hunter, isn't it? Wait. No…! It's… It's Collette! Oh, my gosh! I—I _have_ to go tell Hunter!"

"I swear, Blessia—" I am cur off by Collette and Hunter surrounding us.

"Not more drama," groans Hunter. She walks away, heading for the archery station.

"You… and him?" Blessia looks at Collette expectantly. "When?" She giggles.

Collette raises her eyebrows. "Him?" she snaps. "Me? And him? Uh…" She fumbles for a sword on the cart next to her, fails, and stays instead of walking away towards Hunter. "Well, tell me how that works out, okay, Blessia?"

Blessia rolls her eyes and looks for a sword. I, angrier than ever, turn around to put the sword down and look at the District Seven kid. They usually get in the Careers easily, what with their usual strength, height, and usual amazingness with an ax. The ax he throws hits the dummy perfectly. I start to go toward him as he raises his next ax. I say, "Are you interested in being a Career?" He misses and his ax flies towards the girl from Five. He turns around. "I said," I snap. Pause. "Are you interested in being our ally?"

Expecting a yes, he says, "No." My eyebrows raise as he brushes passed me.

When I return to the Careers, I tell them, "Leave that boy for me, no matter what, even if he's about to kill you, or I will kill you. He's mine."

D10- 18- (Addelynn Demetriu)

"Please enter your number." The dull, lifeless voice of the computer for the plants station repeats this over and over. No matter what I press, it always counteracts with, "Death by hunger; death by hunger."

Behind me, someone says, "You… You broke it."

I turn around and there is the boy from District Six. I think his name is Apollo. He's the insane one, though, I know. Well, he's the insane one if you don't count the Careers. They're completely psychotic.

"I know. Would you mind…getting a trainer?" He runs away after I say this, and returns to a station that only has the boy from District Twelve, and when I turn around, I hear them laughing. I go to the dibble plants learning station and look at the trainer for a moment, then say, "Um, sir? The… The, uh, computer broke." I think that's right…?

The trainer, a tall man with gray hair and a long beard, nods and holds up a finger to the boy from Three. He comes to the computer for plant identification/edible plants station test and looks at it, pressing three or four buttons, and smiling when the computer says, "District Ten female. Sixty out of one-hundred."

I leave the station, disturbed by the machine. I sit down at fire making and look up to see the boy from Four struggling with two burnt sticks. For a moment I wonder why he's not with the Careers. Then, seeing how small he is, I know they must have kicked him out for his size.

The shallowness of those few people amazes me.

Curious for a moment after thinking of them, I look at the Careers and see two of them close together, one whispering something in the only make Career's ear. The male nods and the girl blushes. Then they part and I look at them until I pick out that they're the girl from Four and, of course, the boy from Two. The boy from One approaches them, passes through with an obvious and dangerous air of fake superiority.

I return to my fire and look up at the young trainer that looks a lot like me. She smiles. "I'm Crescha. Now, take the flint and the steel… Oh, boy, those twigs are for examples of what _not_ to do! Use the flint and steel like this girl." I take some flint and steel and spark them together for the overly protective trainer. A flame starts in the little, grassy pit. "Oh, yes, good job. See, boy? Now, girl, would you like to learn to make the pit?" I nod my head awkwardly. "Okay, the wood…" I zone out, focusing on the pit from which the fire is and recreate it as best as I can. Which isn't horrible, but wouldn't get me a fire if it were real. "Good job! Now, boy, put out her fire and then we can…" Since I will not be putting out my own fire, I leave.

It makes me sad a bit to see all these younger children, knowing that in six years my brother could be one of them. If I don't live, he could be a broken, lifeless, dull, abused one from the orphanage… or, Community Home, I suppose. If I live, at least he'd go in there having lived a joyful life… But he'll never go into these Games; never see all these kids like I am, thinking, _Most of these people are going to die. Could I be a friend with any of them if we weren't going to kill each other? Most of these people are going to die. _

D4- 12- (Ryan Melly)

This. Is. Torture. That's it; Crescha wants to kill me. This trainer wants to kill me. She wants to kill me!

"Boy"—can't she even learn my name?—"if you take the flint like th—" I honestly don't care how rude it is. I get up in the middle of her sentence, take a bucket of water from the water used for extinguishing the flames, and dump it on that girl's fire. Then I leave, dropping the bucket. I go to the knife station.

I throw the knives intermediately, maybe expertly. It's the only weapon I can use, since I am so small. What a wonderful way to go into the Games—small and only capable of picking up one type of weapon. It sucks. But, knowing me, I'll find a way. Sneak poison in their food or something.

Speaking of which, I wanted to go to the new poisonous center. I heard they just added it this year. There's a woman there, filing her nails, looking boringly, dazedly, at the empty station in front of her. I smile inwardly. I hurry to the station and look at the books and books of poisonous things. The woman snaps up. "Oh, yes. This is just like the edible plants and plant identification station. Learn it, test it, pass it, and live your life back home."

I nod and look through the books. _Poisonous Berries of Panem._ I read the first chapter title. Then I flip through it, reading only a bit of each berry. Nightlock is first, since it's the most deadly of all. _Yew—beware! Though the berries are dangerous, the foliage is more toxic than the berries. And don't just think, 'Oh, that wasn't yew! I'm not dying, am I?' Yew is a silent, sly killer. Death is sudden, most of the time with not a trace of symptoms. They are fleshy and scarlet red— _Eh, this is simple.

I leave the station without another word to the trainer. The woman looks up from her nails when I look back and almost jumps when she sees no one there. I smile and walk away before she can see me.

I decide to go the guns station. I train there for a while, trying to gain some knowledge in the works of guns and shooting. I am not good at it for a while, and have to really fight the little piece or machinery before I can even understand it, for there is no trainer to help me. _Figures,_ I think. _The Capitol trainer probably got bored and left us tributes to fend for ourselves._

D1- 16- (Kaiden Johnson)

I pick up the bow. My fingers collide with the metal as I pick the weapon up and look at it. It's hard to think that ones of these things will actually soon kill a person. I just can't imagine it.

It's all the Capitol's fault for making us do this. They force this on us, make us kill the tributes.

I put down the bow and walk around the Training Center for once instead of training. Why not take a break? I amble through the stations, not stopping at one, despising every single Capitol person I see.

When I reach the knot-tying station, I plop down and make a snare. There are two sections to this station: snares and nets and such. The snares look easier, so I go here first, but it turns out they're hard. I abandon snares, much to the dismay of the trainer, and make a net.

If this is giving hints to the arena, I don't pick them up, though I've been trying to for a while.

**A/N: Sorry Kaiden's POV was so short. I was very rushed, since I wanted to rewrite this chapter really quick. **


	14. Chapter 14: Training Day Two

**A/N: I'm baaaaaaack! Whaddaya say to a new chapter? Okay? Good, because you're getting one.**

**Anywayyy. Enjoy? Review maybe? Whaddaya say? **

**Collette's POV is long because of an alliance and I need a lot of room to build up a romance *Evil grin*. Haver's is short because he's not the most important. You'll know why one day, my dears.**

D3- 13- (Mir Rawlins)

Sam and I sit at the fire-making station diligently and listen to Crescha talk and talk and talk. Then she says, "Boy, you listening? Come on, boy! Now, make it like this…" I zone out. Soon, just three days after today—or is it four? I'm not counting well—we'll be in the arena. I want more than anything for Sam to win because I'm so riddled with guilt because he volunteered for me. But is that's not possible, I want to die next of him. I have no hope to win these Games—"Girl, pay attention, will you? The people who come to my station…"

"Okay," I say softly, and take Sam's arm, leading him away. "We'll come back when it's busy so that woman's not on our case…"

"She scared me," Sam whispers, looking behind us to the trainer.

"Don't look back!" I laugh. "Of course she scared you. She actually was kind of scary."

"Not fit to be a trainer." Sam darts behind me as a taller boy with an ax throws it as we pass the ax-throwing station. Ever since the incident yesterday, I don't trust that station. "Are they done? Are they done?"

"Yes, but hurry before they get another ax, Sam," I say, and we hurry past the station before the tribute can slip up and kill us here and now. I want to at least make it to the Games.

We go to the knot-tying station at the other end of the Training Center and sit down next to the boy from Four. We copy off if his knots, but let's just say I really hope I don't need to make knots to survive next week.

Sam and I leave that pretty quickly and go to archery. Sam, afraid to roam this place alone, stays with me. I am, too, ever since yesterday when I was looking for a restroom and Sam stayed at camouflage.

At archery, I take a silver bow that's smaller than others and ready the arrow. I aim, shoot, and hit pretty okay. I stay here a while and perfect my archery a bit. The bow is tight and hard to pull back, though. I don't like it. And all the rest are like that, too. But if it's getting strong enough to pull string or die, I think I'll take the string.

D2- 16- (Collette Finch)

I bring down the whip and slash the dummy. Drake comes along, smiling hugely, his prized sword in his hand. He goes to the dummy next to me and tries to show off like he always does. Or does he always? I don't know. I should pay more attention.

"Collette," he acknowledges and picks up a whip. I restrain the laughter bubbling up inside me, pushing it down. Not hysterical, and not laughter for the fact that _Drake Flint_ is my district partner, and that he _actually talks to me_. Because those things are enough to laugh hysterically. But because he actually thinks he can crack a whip better than me. I can tell by the way he walked to me. He should know better. We train together, after all, don't we? He cracks the whip on the dummy next to mine as I watch, seeing him do all the wrong moves, all the wrong strides of arm movement. He almost growls, annoyed, when he sees he's doing it wrong.

"That's not how you do it, you know," I say, laughing a bit. I have no competition here. Blessia and Hunter are the only ones. They shouldn't even count. The thoughts float and dance in me. But even with no competition, I'm still sure he doesn't like me. Does he? "Want me to show you?"

"Whips aren't my type of weapon," he growls, but it's not directed at me, but at his lack of skill. He was trying to impress me or intimidate me. Well, I'm not intimidating, nor am I impressed, so either way, I guess he failed. His voice grows even. "No. No, thanks, though. I better go back to swords."

"You've spent _every single second_ there, you know that? Come to knives or archery with me, will you?" I say, because he really should get away from swords and spears. It makes him look weak, like he can't do anything else. It makes him look stubborn and hotheaded. He is, but it's not something you should advertise before the _Hunger_ _Games_.

"Nah, I think I ou—"

"Knives or archery?" I question, interrupting him.

He sighs, and I smile. "Knives."

I smile, having won that fight, and take Drake to the knife-throwing station. When we get there, I take a turn throwing it at the moving dummies before Drake can. He watches as I throw them like balls, each getting close to the target, but never exactly on. Though I'm okay, knives aren't exactly my cup of tea. Archery I'm great at, but it doesn't relax me or fit me like whipping does, and I'm great with that, too. Really, the only reason I pursue knife-throwing is because I'm not _terrible_, and who doesn't know how to at least throw or fight up front with a knife in the Games?

The boy from Ten comes to the station. I step aside for Drake to take his turn, and don't really pay attention, trying to place a name on this strong-looking tribute. He looks like he more muscles than even Drake by far. Drake finishes and comes back. We watch as the boy from Ten goes.

"Eh," Drake puffs and shrugs. "Now you have to pick up a sword, okay?"

"Fine, but I'm not going against _you_." His head whips to me like a real whip. "Joking, alright?"

He nods and we go to his favorite station. I see the boy from Ten is already there, and working away with that sword miraculously. My eyes widen, and I turn to Drake. He scowls.

"Come on. He's good, and you want a guy, don't you?" I say.

Scowling more, Drake and I ask the guy if he wants in.

"Maxmilian," he says, offering Drake his hand. "Actually, Lion."

"Okay… _Lion_. Drake. That's Collette and the one from One is Hunter. The other's Blessia," Drake says.

We all go to the other two girls at the archery station and introduce them to Lion.

D12- 17- (Haver Grale)

I search around for someone to maybe ally with. Everyone must be too preoccupied or threatened to want to ally with me.

Apollo wasn't, but he is crazy, so he ran away like a little child. He's a bit dangerous in that way.

I continue to look around for allies, but no one seems to notice or say a word to me when I approach them and talk to them. Even the ones who seemed nice! Well, I've only said something to two of the tributes.

I go up to the girl from Six, Apollo's district partner, and she is practically shooting anger out her nose. Slowly, I back away. I go to the boy from Four, but he looks aggravated at the archery station, and abandons it. No one seems to need an ally. Because if they did, I would be an option!

D6- 15- (Melanie/Aureliana Dove)

Aureliana fades away slowly as I leave the fire-making station. None of the trainers were like that. Maybe people just gave her that attention as she grew up and that's the way all people in the Capitol are except for a select few.

I would prefer to go to the station with the least people, but it's knife-throwing, and I don't want to appear very good at anything at all, though I am good with knives. They won't know that—these tributes won't. Only the tributes I kill will.

But really, I don't want to kill. I don't; I don't; I don't; I don't. Maybe Aureliana does, but I—me, Melanie, not the other me that my father's abuse created—don't. I sincerely wish that… I don't know. There's nothing I can wish for. I can just wish that I don't die and when Aureliana comes out, there's no one around to kill.

They're psychopaths at the spearing station as I pass it to go to camouflage. The only people there are the tributes from District Eight. They're jointed by the hip most of the time, as it seems. Always together, never going to a station—or _anywhere_, for that matter—without each other. Must be another "star-crossed lovers" bit again this year.

I sit down next to them. One of them, the boy, says, "You're the one who went totally…well, _you know_, at the reaping, aren't you?"

"I… I don't know, actually, sorry," I say.

"Oh. Uh… well. How to put it?" says the boy, looking over at the girl. She shrugs shyly. The trainer looks at the three of us expectantly. "Sorry." The word is directed to the trainer, I suppose. The boy stands up, followed by the girl, and gives me the look the trainer gave us. "Come on…" I stand up and follow him, staying a bit behind as we travel through the training center to an empty corner. He looks around. "Went totally _rebellious_?"

I'm not going to tell a complete stranger about Aureliana, so I lie and say, "I was mad, okay?"

"That's all?" he asks. He seems to get angry and I step back.

"He's not mad," says the girl in a small, little-kid voice, even though I thought she was somewhere around sixteen. Maybe fifteen or fourteen. "He just... is shy, and doesn't like to talk, so when he talks for no reason… I don't know; I barely know him yet."

"Oh," I say.

I start to turn around, when the boy says, "I'm Colin. Do you want to be our ally?"

"Why?" I ask.

"_Because_. People who ally in the Games stay alive longer the bigger the alliance," he explains.

"I'll—wait, no, I meant why me?"

"You seemed powerful at the reaping." I laugh a small bit.

"I'll… Yes."

D1- 17- (Hunter Blackthorne)

Lion and Drake are sparring and Blessia and Collette are watching them, probably dreaming about Drake—I keep up with their drama to learn their weaknesses—and fantasizing themselves to be with him.

_Just for a couple more minutes,_ I think. _Then go._

I throw another round of knives and walk over to where Collette and Blessia are sitting. Lion and Drake will be busy for a while, I'm guessing, and as long as they're busy, so will Collette and Blessia.

I sneak off to survival stations. As long as the Careers are the Careers, they won't step foot near one. So, I must, for if I don't, the whole alliance will die of some natural cause. I won't be another idiot in the group of idiots.

I go to a few survival skills before I decide to go back to the Careers so they aren't suspicious and untrusting of me. When I return to the Careers, half an hour before we leave, I've been to fire, animal identification, plant identification, and a quick knot or two at knot-tying. Tomorrow, I decide, I'll do more.

Tomorrow. The last day to train. It's gone by so fast. Before I know it, everyone in this room will be dead. Except one tribute.

At the archery station, where we're all gathered, Collette holds the bow, kneeling, with the bowstring pulled back with one finger. _Real_ impressive. _I_ could probably do that with a little practice, and I'm _awful_ with that type of weapon.

When Collette's finished showing off to her little boyfriend—Drake—we all clap. Even me. I _have_ to act like this perfect little Career girl that _loves_ the Capitol with all her might.

"Hunter! What's your weapon?" squeals Blessia as she stops clapping for Collette last. Though I don't look, I'm sure at least half of the other nineteen tributes are looking, staring. Like I care. I'm too agitated with their idiocy and the headache I have had basically all day from the way my escort woke me, with a violent rapping on the door as I slept unsuspectingly, and fell to the floor, landing practically straight on my head.

"Yeah, I've never really seen you train…" Collette says in a proud voice, but not as annoying as Blessia. "I mean, I know you're right next to us by the weapons… but I've never really seen you train…"

"Oh, knives are," I say with edges of pride for my weapon—edges that are showoff-y and completely fake in their entirety.

"Oh? Let's go see," Drake snaps. I smile sassily at his anger and march over to the knives. I pick a few up and go to the moving dummies, not the standstill ones. I pause for just a second as the first one shows up, almost to appear worried and afraid. "Go!"

And go I indeed do.

I hit each one, right on target. This is the best time to be right on target. I usually am, for knives are my weapon of choice, of course, but every living being has flaws.

"See?" I say when I'm done, turning to Drake. "Or would you like to see it again?" My voice is like a knife, sharp, violent, and deadly. And sassy and prideful, with edges of cleverness, though I don't know how I pull off anything but a voice that says, "I want to rip your head off." I somehow do, and continue on, just normal, until we leave, and I part for the elevator, my headache and their idiocy forgotten, and my anger subsided. For once here, I actually, _genuinely_ am _proud_ that I volunteered.

**A/N: At first Hunter's POV I just used to vent out my anger—this book… disappointing… power-insane… second in trilogy… … …—but then it turned into… well, that… just… read it if you haven't, I guess.**

**But there's this thing called an Author Award at my school… I'd rather not explain it, but I won it! **

**Review? And check out CallingMeFakeWontMakeYouReal's amazing stories!**


	15. Chapter 15: Training Day Three

**A/N: Heyyyy! The last freaking training day! Cheer, clap! Come on; do it!**

**So… Training scores are at the bottom. Annnnnnnnndddddddd!: For this SYOT, unlike my last, I will have a brief little thing next to the score of what they did. **

**Yeah. Pretty much clears most everything up, doesn't it?**

**I'm super excited for interviews! I have some ideas… And I've also got this other idea… You know, about _that. _You remember, don't you? Of course you do! Yeah, you remember the other idea with that one tribute, and the other! And that bloodbath! And the… You remember.**

**_If you don't, find out._**

**_-Peeta Mellark, Mockingjay_**

D9- 18- (Gray Hager)

The black metal in my hand doesn't fit me. The little hole in with death will be plunged from does not feel like something I'd let death go through. The short amount of time they have to dodge their death. At least with other weapons, they have time. It doesn't seem right. I remember when I was little and they didn't have guns in the Hunger Games.

I fire, anyway. The bullet plunges, of course, through the little hole and the dummy flies back.

"You aren't actually going to shoot anyone in the Games, are you?"

The voice, much younger than someone my age but definitely male, comes from behind me. I turn around, the gun up, but that's just because I am about to put it down now.

"Whoa, simple comment! Don't shoot _me_!" says the kid. He's very short. And skinny. "You're going to, aren't you?"

"No," I say. "I'm not going to _shoot_ you."

"Phew," he noises, and wipes his brow. Then he looks longingly at the gun. I keep it from the kid and shoot again. "I can do that," he insists. I doubt he can, but I kind of just want him to leave before he gets annoying so I give him the gun. He loads it—or tries to, anyway—and realizes he doesn't need to. He positions himself and I look around, deciding where-to next. There's a water station of some sort next to the fire—quite ironic—which looks better then this. I decide to go there next. There's a boom, a "Dang it!" and the kid turns back to me. "Allies?" He hands me the gun. He must see my unpleasant look as he says, "Let's make a bet. We both shoot. Whoever does better wins. If I win, we're allies. If I don't, I'll leave you alone and can't kill you. No matter what."

_I don't see you killing me, anyway, kid, _I want to say. "Deal," I do say.

He hands me the gun and I focus. Focus. Focus. This is the third time I've ever fired a gun. Focus. Another boom rings out from my hands when I pull the trigger, and this time, the bullet finds a board instead of a dummy. Second ring. The kid has to pull a bulls-eye to win.

"Go on ahead." I hand him the gun.

He aims. He shoots. I look away at the water station for one moment. Then my eyes find the axes station, too, and a perfect hand axe. Just for me. Maybe I'll go throw an axe before I go to the water station.

"Allies," says the kid, handing me a hand. I look over at the target and see he did it. He shot a bulls-eye. Maybe he isn't the _worst_ ally. But already to me, he seems annoying. "Name's Ryan."

"Gray," I say, shaking his hand.

What's the harm in having him as an ally? He's too small to really fight me, and he's so young and acts younger that I bet I can trust him not to kill me in my sleep. It just means I have more nights of sleep in my future and have whatever he can do that I can't on my side. Plus, if I remember right, he's from Four. Maybe he can teach me to swim. Or at least catch us a fish.

D3- 14- (Myra De La Rosa)

I hate that when I am trying to be as invisible as possible; Drew ruins it by trying to talk to me. I ignore him. But today, I finally give in, sighing lightly.

"What're you doing?" he asks casually.

I roll my eyes. "Oh, nothing. Training to kill kids, you know. Nothing unusual," I say sarcastically.

"Oh, yeah," Drew muses. "May I join, Miss Coyote? This training center gets lonely."

"Of course it does, Drew." I sigh and fumble with the knot before me. No one notices us since we are talking quietly, but I hate how much more noticeable I am when I'm not alone. "Sure, join in all you like."

"Why, thank you."

"Don't make me call you 'Andrew,' Drew."

"Calling me Drew right there kind of makes that less threatening." Drew finishes his knot with ease. To be fair, mine is more advanced than his basic shoe knot.

I don't answer back. I fumble more with my knot as Drew untangles his and grabs a longer rope. I watch him as his fingers fly. The more he gets done on it, the more I can tell he's making a snare knot. A very complicated one. _He does snares,_ I tell myself. I try to record the strengths and weaknesses as I notice them throughout training.

"Like what you see?" Drew smiles, staring at the rope as he says this.

"Yes, but I'm looking at the knot," I return quickly.

"Clever, De La Rosa," he says.

"It doesn't have the _ring_ that 'shut up, Reox' does, don't you think?" I stand up. "I'm going somewhere else. Follow me if you like."

"Of course, master," I hear him say behind me when I turn around and head for the berries station.

Drew and I study the berries; the first being, of course, nightlock. Which, apparently, is to not be confused with a berry much alike it, but that one is edible, unlike the very deadly nightlock. Drew and I spend little time here, and then walk around the edges.

"I've wanted to go through the jumper things," he tells me when we near the station where you jump, platform-to-platform, as a trainer tries to knock you down.

"I _haven't_," I say. "You go ahead."

"Come on. Why not? Is it because you want to stay invisible?" My head snaps up to him. "Because I know you do. Mysterious, are we? But—"

"Thanks, but I'm good," I snap, interrupting him. "I'll stick to survival skills and knife-throwing when no one's looking."

Drew nods. "See you after training, then, Miss Coyote."

I hold on to my coyote necklace, and turn around, _away_ from my maybe-most-likely-ally.

D11- 17- (Rogis Trakholm)

Trying to use the sword fighting area is difficult when the Careers are chattering around you and two of them never part. It's one of those damn moments when you're waiting for something that may never come. Their kissing. Because when that happens, I want to get away from the Careers.

Eventually I just get tired of the Careers and leave their presence, going to a survival station on the other side of the training center to get away from them. The one farthest from their location is fire-starting, at the edge of the center.

The young woman looks _almost_ normal. If you took her blue highlights and outrageous makeup, she'd look very normal. She puts on a crazy smile. "I am Crescha. First thing's thing," she says. "Take the flint and steel, boy, and go like this." She demonstrates, but there's nothing in her hands. "Now, boy, are you following? _Are you following_, _boy_? Boy!" I'm looking right at her, and have been since she started instructing. "Good. Okay, take the flint and steel like this, and rub them together, and—"

"Is there a book to read?" I snappily ask.

"Uh, sure, boy, but it's more effective if I teach you personally, boy…" She trails off.

"I'm not good at learning from words or demonstrations," I say, which is a lie, but I don't really care.

Crescha hands me the book and it's mainly a _camping_ activities book. She probably was hired last-minute, and had to buy the book from the nearest Capitol store immediately. I think it's for… vacationing in old arenas. That's just the _perfect_ book to show tributes—one about which gravesite has the best _weather_.

I put the book on the ground and start to make a fire by guess, partially trying to remember whatever Crescha was trying to show. I get a small spark, but that's it. Maybe I'll get lucky in the arena and get a lot of matches from sponsors.

D7- 18- (Temari Hyuga)

My foot is on the little rock that sticks out from the rock-climbing wall. But there's a kick to this rock-climbing wall: It's actually a copy of the side of a mountain. It's only as tall as the training center, though, and you're attached to a rope so that if you make it to the top and fall, you don't die before the Games. As if they really care about our lives, because I _know_ they—the Capitol—don't. If they did, we wouldn't be in this situation in the first place.

I place my hand on another rock just above me and carefully lift myself up. Slowly. Very slowly. Once my other foot has a place to rest, I pull myself up more and position my feet again. Really slowly. I'm so close, so close to the top. And then I loose footing.

There is one moment I have to regain footing and not fall. One moment that I miss.

I am falling the bungee cord goes limp and I am falling, falling, falling. For a moment I wonder if the rope broke, if I am _really_ falling. But then, before I hit the floor, after the flying and then falling sensations pass, and I am just thinking, the bungee starts to bounce. And the trainer unbuckles me.

I sigh and go to archery. Right now, no one but the girl from Two is over there. I walk towards it as the boy from Six gets buckled and readied to climb the wall.

At the archery station, I pick a bow that hasn't yet been stringed, and string it myself. I yank at it until I just don't want to anymore and get a bow that's been stringed already. I position the arrow. The "_bup_-ping" of the arrow attaching to the bow satisfies me and I aim to shoot. When I do, I hit it pretty good. All the archery training the past few days really paid off.

Once I'm done at the archery station, I go back to the swords—I've been to this spot a lot, even though I prefer bows and arrows over swords—and pick one up. I wield the sword around like the Careers have been, but not exactly like them; not as good.

Then I decide to return to archery since I want all the practice there I can get for the individual session with the Gamemakers. I need a good score so people don't overlook me or forget me.

When I go over there, no one is there, so I have the whole little area for archery to myself. I shoot about five arrows with one bow, and then move on to the next. Five arrows. A different bow. I want to see which bow I'm best at, so I know which to pick up during my session tomorrow.

I want to be good. I want to be remembered—dead or alive.

D12- 12- (Chaste Christensen)

I wander aimlessly once more today, observing, not really even paying attention to my observations. I just look around, look away, and walk. Repeat. All at once, really. I refuse to train under the grounds that they can't make me and I'm already good with a bow. I refuse to train under the grounds that the people who can't make me are going to kill me.

Well, not necessarily. I could win. Maybe. The bear, after all, has instructions. I've only read one, and it told me not to train. The rest may be to help me in the Games, or help me defy the Capitol. Either way, I'm not looking at them yet.

I sit down on the floor in the corner. My eyes skirt the training center. All these people—all the tributes at least—will soon be dead. But if I win, maybe next year no innocent kids will die. At least, not like this. If I win, I'm going to smack it in the Capitol's face.

This is just boring. Very, very boring. But I am not going to give in to training because I'm bored. I have survived the boredom the past two training days, haven't I? So I can today, too. Today is the _last_ day I'll have to. And tomorrow will be individual sessions. I hope I blow them away with what I have planned.

The girl from One walking by awakens me from my train of thought. I watch as she trails through the center and back to the Careers—two of which are close, like usual, but still don't kiss. They are together in a way that almost seems like they aren't technically together—and haven't told each other their feelings—but are close so as to tell someone, "Back off."

The girl rolls her eyes and smiles at the two so close together, and, since I am close, I hear her say, "You two are _really_ stubborn, aren't you?"

"Huh?" asks the girl as she smiles innocently.

"Uh-huh," sarcastically the girl from One says.

Then they train again and I go back to being bored.

D11- 17- (Roslynn Ellis)

The knife whizzes out of my hand and into the dummy. Not beautifully, not gracefully, and not perfectly, but it goes, and it hits close enough to a deadly part of the body of the dummy that I am satisfied, and retrieve another knife.

The zipping as it leaves my hand makes the fact that a knife that I throw in the future will kill someone, if I make it past the bloodbath, hit me.

I don't pick up another knife, because I've already thrown a lot, and I want to get away from knives because of what I was just reminded of. It's sick, now that I think about it, that they make us train and dance around like puppets for their pretty little entertainment as they plot ways to kill us just in case other tributes—other _children_—do not. One day, they will get what they serve.

But unfortunately, not today. For if it was today, I'd be taken out of the Games and we all would. No one would. We'd all live, the rebellion would bloom, and the Capitol would lose.

But for now, I stop fantasizing and go to the archery station.

I walk over slowly, and then look at all the bows. I pick up a wooden one that's probably like the one they'll have in the arena if they have one. Arrows and a quiver are next to the wooden longbow. I take the matching set of arrows and position one on the bow. I pull the bowstring back; look at the target, and release. The arrow goes like the knife—with a quick whiz.

I set the bow down gently, and go over to the station for animal identification. The station has a lot of muttations featured in it… And suddenly it dons on me. I study the mutts, the animals, and go over to the plants station even though I am from Eleven and naturally know a lot about plants.

Someone—a little kid who hits my heart—is waiting for the plant identification book that I have. I hand it over to them and go back to weapons.

I think I have a hint on what the arena will be.

**A/N: Review? Sorry it took so long to write such a chapter. **

**And one last vote for arena. A has 2, B has 5, C has 1, D has 2, E has 0, and F has 5. So it's a tiebreaker between B and F.**

**B. **They are in a really big castle  
**F. **They all see their district so it's different for everyone so they have different obstacles

**Vote in reviews, if you would. **

**And anyone up for Training Scores?**

D1- (Luxuries)

Male- Kaiden Johnson 16- 6. _Kaiden threw knives with okay accuracy, earning him a six. But is he hiding strengths?_

Female- Hunter Blackthorne 17- 10. _Hunter threw knives with the accuracy she always has, and showed a little survival skills. But what really got her the ten was her knife-throwing. She never misses, after all. _

D2- (Masonry)

Male- Drake Flint 17- 10. _Drake used his swordsmanship skills and spear skills in front of the Gamemakers, and he also showed them his great strength._

Female- Collette Finch 16- 9. _Collette showed them her amazing whipping skills, her knife-throwing skills, and her archery skills. But the reason she did not get a ten is they thought she lacked the fire and fury that radiated off of her past two allies._

D3- (Technology)

Male- Andrew "Drew" Reox 16- 5. _Drew showed the Gamemakers his traps and snares skills, but, ultimately, they didn't see the bloodshed opportunities in snares._

Female- Myra De La Rosa 14- 10. _Myra__ threw knives with the same accuracy as Hunter, and showed the Gamemakers her plants skills. _

D4- (Fishing)

Male- Ryan Melly 12- 5. _The seemingly clueless, small boy from Four threw knives a bit._

Female- Blessia Fornbrex 17- 5. _She, having not paid too much attention during training and having never trained at home, swung a sword around a bit._

D5- (Power)

Male- Sam Ryans 12- 3. _The small guy who captured hearts and earned "awws" at the Opening Ceremonies got himself his score by trying out his camouflage skills._

Female- Miracle Rawlins 13- 6. _Mir shot her bow and tried some camouflage._

D6- (Transportation)

Male- Apollo Ephraim 14- 2. _He kind of just got scared._

Female- Melanie/Aureliana Dove 15- 4. _She sat in the corner crying, but the Gamemakers saw her during training in the moments that she was Aureliana and saw something._

D7- (Lumber)

Male- Tasi Merkava 16- 7. _Tasi used axes and tomahawks. _

Female- Temari Hyuga 18- 6. _Temari wielded a sword and used a scythe. _

D8- (Textiles)

Male- Colin Crowe 15- 2. _He tentatively did survival skills._

Female- Sahra Lemo 14- 2. _She shyly and horrible used a bow._

D9- (Grain)

Male- Gray Hager 18- 7. _He threw axes of all kinds—especially hand axes._

Female- Artemis Nightheart 15- 6. _She showed her knowledge of plants and her ability to shoot a gun._

D10- (Livestock)

Male- Maxmilian "Lion" Leone 18- 9. _He wields the sword around with his swordsman skills and shows his strength. _

Female- Addelynn Demetriu 18- 8. _She set snares, shot her bow, climbed, and did camouflage. Rather quickly. _

D11- (Agriculture)

Male- Rogis Trakholm 17- 8. _He used maces and showed his strength. _

Female- Roslynn Ellis 17- 7. _She threw knives and shot her bow to earn her score. _

D12- (Mining)

Male- Haver Grale 17- 4. _He threw knives._

Female- Chaste Christensen 12- 9. _She shot arrows around the Gamemaker session room in a jumbled mess, but they were all covered in gasoline. Then, when she was done, she lit them on fire, and the letters "HG" showed up._

**Sorry if your tribute did not get the score you wished, but I can't have them all being super tributes with sevens and eights and nines and tens**


	16. Chapter 16: Interviews, Part One

**A/N: We're caught up! Yay! (Oh, you know what I mean if you know what I mean by saying you know what I mean, but you'd only know what I mean if you knew what I meant and, therefore, know what I mean.) **

**I am sooooo excited! Why? This chapter is not a reaping, or training, or chariots, or the night before the arena, but interviews! By far, other than the bloodbaths, interviews are my favorite chapter to write, no matter how tedious it becomes to write the description of the outfits. It's all worth it! **

**And thank you to _Sketch the girl who imagined_ for helping with Melanie's, Tasi's, and Rogis's outfits!**

**Okay, so, yeah.**

_Hunter Blackthorne-_

"…your host, Ema Losjisey!" I hear someone over the speakers roar.

"Thank you! Thank you so much! Welcome all, welcome all!"

I hear my name being called. I am first.

In my white dress, I make my way to the stage; my dress looking as though it changes colors in the way it glows. The violet highlights in my hair apparently match. The small clicks my shoes make remind me of the reaping, and my escort's clicking shoes.

"Hello, hello! Why, hello, Hunter!" she chirps. I smile, sitting down at my chair, nodding to acknowledge her, and cross my legs. "Yes, yes."

"Hi, Ema," I say. I look out at the crowd. _Likeable, witty._ "Look at everyone! What a large crowd!"

"It is, isn't it, dear?" Ema addresses the crowd. They roar with delight. "Okay, okay, yes. So, Hunter, dear. You are a Career, correct?"

"I am, indeed," I tell her. "Yes, I am, and I think we'll be a strong alliance this year. At least, I hope so." The crowd laughs a bit, and I almost sigh. I don't know how to make these people laugh. They are anticipating our deaths; could they be a little less difficult because of that?

"Well, aren't you just the little charmer?" Ema smiles, and I can see the falseness of it in her eyes that are directed at me, not the audience.

"Of course I am," I say. The crowd laughs a little more, and I rest my hands in my lap.

"Of course you are. I've been dying to ask you something," Ema says.

"Yes?" I raise my eyebrows and pretend to look generally interested.

"What are your strategies?"

I sigh. "Now, Ema"—the Capitolites laugh—"we all know that I won't say that. But trust me; soon enough it will be apparent."

"I'm going to have to trust you there. Hunter Blackthorne of District One!"

**_Buzzer_**

_Kaiden Johnson-_

I don't need their pathetic outfits. So I am wearing my reaping outfit yet again.

"Kaiden Johnson!"

I go to the seat next to Ema as Hunter departs from the stage. I look out from the stage with hopefully obvious hate and annoyance. But nothing is easy, is it? They just cheer more. What, do they see me as a smiling little kid?

"Hello, Kaiden, hello! Your district partner was a Career. Are you?"

"I work alone, so no, I am not," I answer, almost growling at their… everything.

"Oh? Well, is there anyone… special put there?" Ema asks.

"No."

These people must think I'm the most boring person in the world, so I decide to… kick it up a notch.

"What do you think of the Capitol, Kaiden?"

"What do I think of the Capitol? Ha. Well, they are sending me to die, aren't they? Not that I will," I snap.

Smiling a fake smile, Ema laughs an airy laugh. "I'm guessing your strategy must be _pretty_ strong, then, huh?" Is she saying I need the 'best strategy ever' to win? "Okay, Kaiden, what is life back home like?"

"Better than fake, candy-coated beasts," I say, referring to the Capitol. The audience laughs. _Laughs_.

"That may be something the Gamemakers will have to think about next year! When you comes back next year with a tribute, you might have to warn them about candy-coated beasts scouring the arena," warns Ema with a laugh.

"How utterly _kind_ of you to muse me by telling me I'll win," I hiss, my voice oddly even; untouched by the hiss that I meant to have in it, my voice almost sounds friendly, which annoys me.

"Oh, but you don't think you will?" asks Ema.

"We'll see," I snarl, and she is taken aback by my sudden voice change. I am glad whatever is away from my voice—maybe I was so angry that I could not control what I was doing—and it comes across as a snarl.

"You are… _vicious_! I like it! I'll take it as a hint. Kaiden Johnson of District One!" They applaud me. I called them fake beasts. I insulted them, snarled at them, and defied them, and yet, they still turned me into something I'm not. I'm not as in control of my future as I thought.

**_Buzzer_**

_Collette Finch-_

The flowing at the bottom of my long red dress makes it hard for me to go to my seat. My skin shimmers on my way, and my makeup must make my eyes pop. I smile flirtatiously and pick my dress up a bit. I'm glad that it's tight so it fits my angle.

"Come sit, come sit," beckons Ema. I nod, agreeing, and pick up my pace until I'm sit on the edge of my seat next to Ema. "Why. Hello!"

"Hey." I look out at the crowd, dipping my head at the screams "graciously," smiling, and wave one finger at a time like I am tediously, impatiently, tapping at a desk, slowly. "I am… happy to be here." I shrug my shoulders and turn back to Ema. "Very."

"I would assume so," Ema says, "what with that little wave. Do you have someone special? If you do, I bet they didn't like that." I can see in her eyes she so badly wants me to have someone. Maybe Drake… I mean, we were really close in training… and what's the harm? But it goes against my angle, and if he doesn't actually like me and I announce he's my special person, he'll hate me.

"No one special, unfortunately," I say. "I'm looking to change that, though."

There are claps from the audience and most everyone leans forward.

"Ooh! With whom?"

"We'll see. As you can imagine, I have _so_ many options. I'm a Career, and look at this dress!" I smile at the dress, trying to direct the topic somewhere else.

"Is there anyone in particular that you like?"

"Well… we'll see, won't we? Besides, I can't let love get in the way of winning," I tell her.

"That's right," she says. Ema Losjisey sighs. "Oh well. Wait, we'll see? Ooh, this is getting exciting! I won't prod you down any further there, I promise."

"Thank you." I laugh a little. "Yeah, I have something up my sleeve, but let's just forget that… for now." Maybe being sexy, and then mysterious, but deadly all the while is better than just sexy and can kill. It has to be. I can't take back what's happened.

"So, are you ready for this?" she asks.

I smile. "Of course. Ready? I'm more than ready. I'm lethal. I can do this. And… my weapon might just surprise you if I can get my hands on one tomorrow."

"If we weren't almost out of time, I'd ask you. I can't wait to find out. Collette Finch of District Two!"

**_Buzzer_**

_Drake Flint-_

My blood-red short shows a lot of my chest, since not too many of the buttons are buttoned. There's a black vest over it—that matches the trousers and shows—but it doesn't cover a lot, either. Not that I care. I _want_ these girls flocking over me and sponsoring me.

"Well, aren't you just a handsome thing!" I sit down next to my interviewer and smile a small smile, just to reel those girls in. Just for them. And maybe for Collette, too. "I have to ask: What do you feel about your district partner after her interview?"

"What do I _feel_?" I pause. I'm not saying I love her. I am not announcing that. She doesn't love me, and it would be so cliché and pathetic and downright _stupid_, and it would ruin everything. "I feel like she's big competition. That she's a force to be reckoned with. But she's an ally, you know."

"Of course." Now they're disappointed. "_Is_ there anyone special?"

"You'll see." I grin, and make sure to catch a random girl in the audience's eye. "Tomorrow, all secrets will be revealed, and I'm not just talking about Collette's weapon."

The crowd laughs, and I smirk. It seems every sane District Two tribute smirks, so why not give it a try?

"But don't feel left out! I'm sure that everything will be worth the wait."

I hear several girls scream my name. I smile in their direction, though I don't see them in particular.

"I'm sure it will. I just wish you could tell who the special someone is…"

"You'll see. Don't get me impatient. I got a ten, after all." The crowd laughs.

"You're right. I won't mess with you, you bad boy," Ema jokes. The crowd roars. I raise my eyebrow.

"My girl won't be happy about that," I say.

"No, she won't." The crowd hasn't stopped laughing and cheering and clapping and the girls haven't stopped screaming and chanting my name. "Well, best of luck to you and _your girl_, Drake. Drake Flint of District Two!"

**_Buzzer_**

_Myra__ De La Rosa-_

I'm wearing this strapless short dress that reaches just above my knees. It's black and tight at the top, but then flares out into red, orange, and purple at the waist, with black sandals. If you ask me, it is pretty much just perfect for what's hopefully ahead.

"Myra! Myra De La Rosa!" I walk to the yelling Ema. "Yes, yes." I shake her hand and sit in my sit. "Well, quite the dress you have there! And yours in the Opening Ceremonies! Oh, I'm not supposed to have favorites… So let's keep this a secret here… If I was allowed to have favorites, you would be one of them."

And right there, before I have even said a word, my interviewer has dropped a bomb on me, making me a target because I might be "better" than some of the tributes. And there's no denying that that is not the case, because, ultimately, to me, it so obviously is. As if my score wasn't dangerous enough.

"Thank you," I say softly. "Thank you so much."

"Well, you don't seem all happy, Myra." She's pulling me for the truth, and the "truth" is what she'll supposedly get.

"It's just… My family back home—they needed me. And not just like any other tribute's family did. They _needed_ me. I… I don't want to explain it. We were so… I'm sorry," I whisper. Such a dramatic lie for sympathetic sponsors to eat up. "I shouldn't burden you. Let's just…"

"Oh, it's perfectly alright," Ema says, putting an arm around my shoulder. "I guess this means you'll really be a fighter. I mean, you got a ten! How…?"

"Oh, a little something called strategy. You'll see. I just hope the Careers aren't jealous." If I'm going to play up this "better than them thing," I should play it to the full extent. Because my days of invisibility are over. "But let's set that aside for now, okay?"

"Alright," Ema agrees, sighing a bit. "I am dying, now that I've heard all of this, to hear your strategy. Will you tell us?"

"Ema, I can't," I say with a small smile. "At least, not the whole thing."

Ema smiles. "Do tell."

"Of course. Well, hiding may not be so sufficient as to keeping each and every tribute away forever, and I cannot guarantee the arena cooperating with my decisions that I have made so far, but I can tell you this to the full extent of honesty: You won't see what I have thought through coming. Remember, this is only _part_ of my strategy." People look confused or amused, but I doubt anyone knows what I said except me. "Thank you, Ema." I put on an award-winning smile.

"Oh… yes, I, uh… agree," Ema stutters. "Well, you're quite the intelligent tribute! Myra De La Rosa of District Three, everybody!"

**_Buzzer_**

_Drew Reox-_

The black tie, flung over my shoulders, but not tied. The white button-up shirt. The black pants and shoes. I look relaxed.

"Hello! Hello. Well. Don't you just look handsome? Doesn't he, doesn't he?" Ema pats the seat next to her. I sit down like this is eating dinner with my mother.

"Hello, Ema," I say calmly.

"Yes. Hello. So, Andrew, how—"

"Please, call me Drew."

"Oh, of course, Drew. Well, first, then, why 'Drew'?" she asks and I laugh lightly.

"Oh, it's just that… I just don't like Andrew," I tell her. "Drew is so much more… me. Less… strict and official, you know."

"I don't, but I'll say I do!" The audience laughs, and I smile, running a hand through my hair like my mentor told me.

"To appear relaxed, calm, and confident—like you haven't a care in the world and are very confident about tomorrow without even saying a word about it," he'd said.

"Running my hand through my hair is that… powerful?" I had asked sarcastically, trying to get Myra to laugh. She's actually pretty stubborn, and that annoys me greatly.

"Now, _Drew_, down to the real stuff," Ema says, and I nod. "How do you like the Capitol?"

"It's magnificent. Especially the chicken."

"The chicken? Well, I do love the chicken," Ema says, smiling. "Now, is there anyone special?"

"Oh… How could there be with all these ladies out there in the crowd?" I say.

Girls scream madly, and when that dies down, a group of girls in the middle hold up a poster that says my name and scream, "We love you, Drew!"

"How about that?" Ema says.

"I know. Thank you, girls," I say, my eyes kind of wide. "Wow. I didn't think…"

"Wow is correct! You have your own fan club already!" Ema exclaims. She looks back at me from the crowd and sees my expression. "Oh, don't be so modest! When I said you looked handsome, I meant _handsome_, okay?"

"From anyone else I would thank them, but from you, Ema… I prefer my fan club." Ema looks mock-hurt. The crowd laughs, and the girls chant my name.

"That really hurt, Drew; that really hurt." Ema continues to look mock-hurt.

"Oh, I was just joking, Ema," I say.

"I'll believe you… for now. Well, the best of luck to you! Drew Reox of District Three!"

**_Buzzer_**

_Blessia Fornbrex-_

It is important to me that I look beautiful, because that is my favorite part of the Hunger Games, and I want to bring some _me_ into the occasion. So when my stylist, Nea, showed me this dress, I couldn't have been happier.

It's silky and blue. Light aqua, actually, and short, only reaching to just above my knees. There's a brown and blue flower in the top right. It's sleeveless, and ruffled at the bottom. The bottom is see-through fabric of green, light aqua, and brown, all piled over each other so repeatedly you cannot see through it. My shoes are glass high heels. My copper hair is in a fishtail braid and set to the side. I love it—the whole ensemble.

"Why, Blessia! You look stunning!" Ema exclaims.

"Thank you," I say. "The interviews have always been a favorite part of the Games for me, you know. I've been wanting to tell you that."

"Thank you, then. Aren't you sweet? But I guess sweet isn't all, right?" Ema interrogates.

"Of course! If I were just sweet, would I be a Career?" I smile. "But anyway, I have been _dying_ to do this. May I interview you, Ema Losjisey?"

The crowd laughs, and Ema looks taken aback, and then she laughs too. "Sure. Go ahead."

"Thank you. Now, Ema, what is it like to be an interviewer and commenter for the Hunger Games?" I inquire.

"It's lovely. Seeing each of you every year at your best, and helping you be understood by the crowd!" Ema answers.

"That's magnificent. And… well, if I may ask, what is your favorite… flower?" The Capitol audience laughs, and Ema looks at me like I am crazy. I flick my braid back and run a finger through the strands behind my ear that are sticking back.

"Flower? Well, I like petunias…"

"Oh, they're gorgeous, aren't they? Now you know what it's like to be interviewed," I say with a tiny, tiny smile.

"Thank you for that, then." She smiles. "What is your strategy, if I may ask?"

"My strategy? Get my hands on a weapon and fight with the Careers obviously." I hate the idea of killing, but if getting sponsors means acting bloodthirsty, then so be it. "I guess, though, that I may spare someone from my no mercy policy…" All attention is right on me.

"Who? Who?" I know my interview is about over, which is why I just brought that up. "Oh, our time is up. I'm sorry. Blessia Fornbrex of District Four!"

How disappointed they are. Good. They'll sponsor me to keep me alive longer for my mysteries to be revealed and discovered. I blow a kiss to the crowd and strut off stage.

**_Buzzer_**

_Ryan Melly-_

This damn light blue suit is… I don't know, but I hate it.

I go to the center of the stage, where a woman in a green tunic, yellow gaucho pants, and green high heeled boots, with pink skin, yellow, long, wavy hair, and green makeup, and green gloves, sits, waiting for me. I go up to the seat next to her and sit.

"Hello, Ema," I say.

"Well, Ryan, hello to you, too!" she says in her annoying Capitol accent. But I can't let my hate for the Capitol show. I am, after all, pretty much at their mercy. That's not a good place to be. "How has the Capitol been for you?"

"Colorful," I answer. "Literally. And delicious."

"Oh, we do have great food, do we not?" she says. "Okay, so, what do you plan to do in the Hunger Games?"

"Well, judging by my size, I guess you can guess I'm not a Career," I tell her. "But that doesn't mean I'm not strong and ready, too! Because I can throw knives, and I know how to work a gun, and I have an ally."

"An ally already, huh?" Ema gives me a smile like she actually _cares_.

"Yes. You see, we fell across each other at the gun station, and made a bet. If I did better at shooting the gun than him, we were allies, but if he won, we never spoke again," I explain. "I got lucky… and, well, shot a bulls-eye."

"Oh? So you can shoot pretty well, you're strong, you have an ally, and you can throw knives?" I nod after she says this. "Don't count him out, then!"

"That's right. Don't count me out," I say, more to the tributes, but my eyes are on the audience.

"Can you swim, too?" Ema asks.

"Oh, kind of…" I pause. "Kind of" is an overstatement. I'm not that great of a swimmer, really. If Blessia and I are the final two, and we're trapped at a river, let's just say that I'm screwed.

"Kind of is good enough, I hope, for you," Ema says, and I smile.

"Thank you," I say.

"Don't thank me! You practically ran the interview! Well, this has been great. Ryan Melly of District Four!"

**_Buzzer_**

_Mir Rawlins-_

The white dress swishes and the gold earrings, gold bracelet, and gold necklace swish, too, as I walk over to Ema Losjisey.

"Miracle! Miracle, sit! Sit!" Ema calls over to me. I do as she is telling me to, and fold my hands in my lap. "So, I love your name."

"Thank you. I love your last name. It sounds like 'let's just say,'" I compliment her. "It's neat."

"Thank you to you, too, then," Ema says. "Did you know your district partner before the reaping?"

I smile. "Yes. We're very close," I admit. "I'll—I feel so bad… that he volunteered, and I can't win. Not with the guilt… so I… He… Can we move on, please? I want to… surprise you in the arena." More like I don't want to give a weakness away to the tributes that are watching me now.

"Very well." Ema sighs. "Oh well. The more surprises, the better, eh? You know, it seems like _none_ of you tributes are telling me _anything_. I swear I feel like I'm failing at this!"

"Don't feel like that, Ema. You're magnificent at this," I tell her.

"You are sweet as a button! What I wouldn't give to steal you and your adorable friend and keep you here! But the arena has to have its victor, huh? And it's going to be one of you, isn't it?" Ema pats my head and gives me a smile that a grandma would give to their sick two-year-old grandchild.

"I sure do hope so."

"Well, take a guess at the arena. I don't know, either, but what would _you_ like it to be?" she asks me.

"Me? I'd love it if the arena were a chocolate factory filled with delectable, _edible_ chocolate. Or a giant cake, where you could frost someone to death and every night in the arena you could feast on cake. But that isn't going to happen probably, right?" I answer.

"Probably not. But let me tell you: If that were the arena, I'd take your place so I could have some chocolate or some cake! Now you've gotten me hungry, Miracle Rawlins, and I still have fifteen tributes left to interview! What do you say we take a dinner break, you and I, and then come back and you finish the interviews?" Ema asks, and I smile as the audience laughs.

"Aw, I'd love to go to dinner, Ema!" I tell her, and the audience continues to laugh. "But I'm sorry; you're too good of an interviewer for me to take your place."

Ema laughs. "I knew you wouldn't fall for it. Well, darn, Miracle. Miracle Rawlins of District Five!"

**_Buzzer_**

_Sam Ryans-_

I look small. I am small. I need Mir. I need her so badly to be beside me, because I know that if she's not, I'll flip out. This is going to be terrifying. I can't do it; I can't do it; _I can't do it._

"Sam Ryans!" booms Ema. I jump back, frightened, and then, with my head down, go to my seat and try to make it less obvious that I'm shaking. "You are so adorably divine! I could just eat you up!"

"Y-You sound like a gr-grandmother," I stutter. The audience laughs, and I shakily continue to breathe. _Just the Capitol. Just the Capitol,_ I tell myself. _Just the people who could kill you. Just the people who want to see you die…_

"I do? Eek! Do I look like one? I better not!" She cares only about her wrinkles. I open my mouth, and then close it. "You are adorable. And tiny! And cute! Oh, so cute! And you're a volunteer?"

"Uh, yeah…" I start and don't finish. _Just the people who could kill you right now._

"Well, why?" Ema insists.

"Miracle was r-reaped, you know. I'm—I can't live without her. It's—There's no _point_. I can't win, and maybe she can, but I couldn't…" I trail off. "Couldn't risk it."

I am so shy. No one's going to sponsor us and we're going to die. But the good news is, is two coffins will come home at the same time—one reading "Sam Ryans," and the other reading "Miracle Rawlins."

"Couldn't risk what, Sam?" The Capitol interviewer leans forward, towards me.

There is a long pause. "Life without Miracle." I will not say "Mir." That is my nickname for her, and mine only.

"Oh, wow, you… That is your biggest fear, isn't it? For Miracle Rawlins to die?" Ema asks.

"Y-Yes." I fidget in my seat and look over at her. Her eyes are sad and proud. "It is."

"You would wish her life over your own?" I turn back to Ema after she says this.

I can't answer. Mir told me not to answer questions like this. She's told me, "Weaknesses are easy to give out under the hands of the interviewer. I'll probably give some out myself. But you can't, okay, Sam? Do this for me, okay?"

I won't give out the answer to that question. I promised my best friend in the world, my _girlfriend_, Mir. I promised.

"Hello? Well, okay. Sam Ryans, the cutie of District Five!"

**_Buzzer_**

_Melanie/ Aureliana Dove-_

This****purple tank top-strapped, floor-length dress with white lilies at the waist and another around her wrist as a bracelet and white high-heels is very beautiful.

My name is called, and I must go up to the stage to face the entire country of Panem. I take a breath and make my feet move, looking around the audience as I do. Color floods my vision, like it's the only thing that exists left in this dying country of death and loss.

"Hello, Melanie, dear!" calls Em, a smile planted directly and firmly on her face. She seems less hostile than she did last year. Last year I remember her being very temperamental and out of patience with the tributes, which ultimately resulted in their rebellious thoughts spoken aloud. This year I can see she has either noticed or been told to be less hostile for this reason. It's honestly the least she could do, though I bet she's under a lot of pressure with the whole interviews and our entire images being created resting on her shoulders. "Sit down, dear!"

I smile, doing as she's told me, and look out to the crowd again. Heart races, anticipating what'll be the next words uttered, not thinking they'll be mine, when they are.

"Hello," I say quietly, and clear my throat, but don't repeat the word more forcefully, for I don't think I'll manage anything more than what I did.

Ema smiles. "Speak up, alright? When we can't hear you, we can't hear your wonder, well-thought answers."

"Of course," I say sweetly, talking louder than before.

"So, are you prepared for tomorrow?" is the first question Ema asks me.

"I—I'm not sure," I answer truthfully. "None of us can be _definitely_ sure, since none of us know what tomorrow will bring, but I guess we'll all know soon who is and who's not."

"Good answer," Ema comments, giving me a light smile. I try to smile back, don't, and just wait for the next question.

"You have heart, if I've been told right. By that, I mean, though sort of small and appearing as though weak, you can come out strong, as I've been told. Would you classify thus as true?" she questions, her eyes glued to me, as the rest of the audiences' eyes are. Because even she's the audience to this interview, more than just the interviewer.

I know she's talking about when I go Aureliana, but she doesn't know that that's because I have multiple personality disorder. And why tell anyone? Why not let them think I just have strong heart? "Yes."

Ema's smile widens. "I can hear the sponsors lining up for you now," she says. "Okay, so, you also seem very intelligent, from what I've heard in this interview. Would you like to say something to confirm this?"

"I'm not sure I know how," I admit sheepishly, with sweetness so evident. "I mean, I can't just _say_ something to prove my intelligence, can I?"

"I suppose not, and I suppose we'll all soon see, as you said," she gives. "Though I'm sure they are I'll ask anyway. Are your parents concerned about you?"

A light in sweetness of brightness turns on—or flickers on, more likely. It grows, blooms, blossoms like a flower. It sprouts, seeds, spreads like a wildfire. It gives way, flattens, sheds here and there, all to spread. It sends its evilness through me, cascading down me as I'm reminded of my dead or abusive parents. And Melanie dies again as Aureliana comes back to life, spitting her fire to the colorful crowd, and lives on once more.

"You don't need to know," I snap. The idiotic woman's too colorfully bright makes her look like a painted character.

Just as I am about to say more—with pleasure—Ema says, "I'm sorry…? You do have heart, I guess! Melanie Dove of District Six!"

**_Buzzer_**

_Apollo Ephraim-_

I whip through the questions, but Ema seems… odd when I answer…

**(A/N: Remember, bloodbaths get no more than a synopsis of an interview, for they're not the main characters. All the other tributes are.)**

**_Buzzer_**

**A/N: As much as I hate to just do this in two parts, I kinda have to. I haven't updated in so long and I really wanted to show I was still out here and cared about this story, but I can't write these interviews for some reason.**

**Anyway, review! Break my incapability to write interviews! You could cure it, maybe with a review!**


	17. Chapter 17: Interviews, Part Two

**A/N: IMPORTANT MESSAGE: I have been accepted into one of those 24 tributes 24 authors thing (not the one by the "official" author, 24tributes24authors, but by someone else), and we're really trying to figure everything out (and make a ton of mutts… and I'm still haggling over a few super deadly things to not be taken out). Until the story is underway and there's not too much left to decide except who's gonna die and who gets the next chapter, updates will be less frequent. **

**I'm Lila Callbrooke, D2 female, by the way, and it's called Blood Dreams. Unless Always makes an account specifically for the story, it'll be on AlwaysHasAPlan's Profile. **

**Part Two! Can't wait for the arena, so I'm not even doing night before the arena! Next chapter is the big day!**

**By the way, the out-turn (victor) of this story will be different than DFU was. There's a poll on my profile you can vote on, and the tributes with the least votes will die. The last tribute left on this blind poll will be the victor if I deem them fit. After a chapter in which a death occurs, I will make another poll. **

**Vote now!**

_Temari Hyuga-_

The white dress with a bow in the back with my hair put in a bun makes me look an awful lot like a really little girl, but pretty, too, depending on what aspect you decide to look at me from, really.

Ema welcomes me. I sit down, smiling, nodding, and greeting her, too, sweetly, preparing to answer completely as honest as I absolutely can.

"You look beautiful," compliments Ema. I smile sweetly and shrug. "But you do!"

"Thank you," I respond.

"How has the Capitol been treating you?" Ema asks with a small laugh.

"Good," I tell her. "Well, it's pretty beautiful, too."

"It is, isn't it?" she asks. "Such a world of color and glory, eh?"

"Yeah," I whisper distantly. My heart beats very, very fast.

"Uh-huh. So, is there anyone special out there?" Ema asks.

"No," I answer, knitting my brow.

"You don't seem so sure!" exclaims the interviewer.

"Oh, but I am," I say, earning a laugh, and laugh a little myself.

"Yes, well, you've been fantastic. What an interesting name. Temari Hyuga of District Seven!"

**_Buzzer_**

_Tasi Merkava-_

I'm in a black suit, red shirt, gold tie and black shoes. It looks very elegant on me, which is something I'm not. My stylist cut a huge wad off my hair, and now I only have but a thin, regular layer of hair covering my head, unlike before with my puffball that screamed, "Me." They're already changing me.

"Hello… Oh, wow, your hair!" exclaims Ema. "It's cut!"

"Yes, it is," I say calculatingly.

I sit down next to my interviewer as she babbles about her latest haircut. "Oh, dear, I'm so sorry, Tasi! You talk! What's your favorite thing about the Capitol?"

"The food," I answer.

"Quite a popular answer!" Ema laughs lightly, and then asks, "Are you ready for tomorrow?"

"I'm as ready as can be," I answer. "And that's very ready, Ema, so let the other tributes know to watch out for me."

"Of course, of course." Ema laughs. "You seem like a very responsible person, don't you?"

"Thank you, Ema," I say.

"You're welcome," she replies. "Well, best of luck. Tasi Merkava of District Seven!"

**_Buzzer_**

_Sahra Lemo-_

Though shy and lost without Colin, I think I gain the Capitol's attention when I mention him and me.

**_Buzzer_**

_Colin Crowe-_

I've failed her, erased what sponsors we gained with her interview, by being so terrified with stage fright that I'm frozen.

**_Buzzer_**

_Artemis Nightheart-_

The pink sundress flowing, I go to the stage, my secret goal set. I'm very inspired by Aria Garnet from last year's Hunger Games. At least, I'm inspired by her interview. I don't think she can be forgotten.

I greet Ema with the same smile and cheeriness she gives me, even though I want to rip someone's throat out for putting me here. Despicably sick and completely un-right or not, I'm stuck in these Games until I die or until I win. I _really_ hope it's not the first, but the latter, that is my fate.

"Hello, and sit," Ema calls out, even though we're right next to each other. I do as she says, quietly, somewhat reluctantly. "So, what were your favorite—training or Opening Ceremonies?"

"Neither," I answer. "I… I liked the food." The audience laughs heartily, and I wonder if this is enough—being funny. I wonder if I can be remembered by just being funny, or if I actually have to find a moment to say something memorable. I don't know how to do that, but I guess I will.

I mean, I can't just die without a name or a face—just a vaguely remembered and then not remembered at all pawn, can I?

"What do you expect about tomorrow?" Ema asks.

I sigh. "Bloodshed. Lots and lots of bloodshed," I answer. And that's really all I expect. Anything else I can't really guess. I also expect all the tributes to bow down to the Capitol's will. "Lots of death and people trying to get to safety. I expect alliances to be made and betrayals to be betrayed."

"Is that so?" asks Ema in a way that infuriates me.

"Yeah, it is," I say, trying not to snap at her, rage building inside me like a bridge, and now I know that I have to—_have to_—do something like Aria did last year. How can I not?

And the next questions are a blur as they're given and I answer them, because something in me is screaming, _"You're chance is coming! You're chance is coming!"_

"So, how do you think the turnout of the Games tomorrow will be?" Ema asks.

"What do you mean?" I answer.

"Oh, that wasn't worded well, was it? I mean: What do you think of the Games being tomorrow?"

And that's when the screaming inside me gets somehow louder as it deafens me from inside my own heading, shouting, _"THIS IS YOUR CHANCE!"_

I take my chances. And as I do, I let the words flow without paying too much attention to them. I wonder what Aria was thinking, if she knew her consequences, and wonder if that's what those mutts that killed her really, _really_ did: target hers, and hers only, weaknesses, so that she couldn't win.

There's the moment where people are silent, and it takes me a moment to realize what I have just said, for, right now, not even I know, nor do I understand because of my daydreaming. I have said, I realize as it swims into my mind, "We will fight for you. All of us. We have to, right? Because no amount of distaste could change it in all of us that we want to go home. But I won't give in to it. I won't be more than one of the many small pieces in your game of chess. I will be the one to make the checkmate, the one to trap the king piece and force it to its stillness. I will break the times we tributes are stuck like that king will be. I won't settle for a stalemate. I will not bow." And that's when I realize that I can try and try and try, but it's going to be very, very much extra hard to get home.

But it doesn't matter. Now, I'm the queen of this game of chess. I'm the queen of these Games.

**_Buzzer_**

_Gray Hager-_

I walk on stage in a slightly open large brown jacket to show off my muscles, brown gloves, and brown pants. All brown. All grain-brown. But my mind is not here; my mind's stuck on Artemis's speech. Does she not know that now there's no way they'll let her win? Oh well, just one less contender for Ryan and me to deal with.

"Hello, Gray!" exclaims Ema. "Ah, I expected you to wear gray!"

I laugh lightly. "I kind of did, too, but whatever works."

"Yes, of course," she says with a smile, staring at my jacket. "So, another handsome, young guy! There's no end to your looks out there in the districts, is there?"

"Uh… Whoever said that coming from anyone but you, I'd say thanks… was right," I tell her.

Ema, laughing, calls out, "I've got to get my hair redid! Is this just not my color?" She mock-pouts and shrugs. "Well, I better do that before the Hunger Games tomorrow!"

Roars break out as people cry out and scream and yell and shout in anticipation of tomorrow. I sit up straight, confidently, and make sure to sit in a way to flaunt my muscles so people see I have a lot of strength. They'd much rather sponsor someone strong than not.

"Do you have any allies?" asks Ema.

I say, "You'll have to see, right?" because I don't think telling people that a twelve-year-old with a lack of focus nor the conscience to get a job done without messing around, almost no weapons, and a rather low training score would help me.

"Now, why won't anyone tell me anything but their favorite foods and such?"

"I can't. My deadliness is something we'll all have to determinate tomorrow, and I can't limit to it by telling the others my skills and or weaknesses, right?" I explain, trying as best as possible to sound arrogant, because that's how my mentor told me to appear intimidating: act arrogant.

"So you're smart, you're strong, and you're a force to be reckoned with?" Ema asks.

"If I appear to you as so," I say back indifferently.

Ema smiles. "You are. Gray Hager of District Nine!"

**_Buzzer_**

_Addelynn Demetriu-_

Oh, how gorgeous my dress must be since so many tell me that, and have done so in so little time. It's a blue, leopard print dress that's tightened below the breasts with a silver pin on the left, and a long, dark blue mark that goes from the pin to the top and bottom of the floor-length, sleeveless dress, and makes it look like the pin's bleeding dark blue blood. My long red hair's puffed up high at the top and tied in the back, and then cascading down in straight strands until at the bottom where it's curly. And, of course, there's no forgetting the silver, sparkly makeup.

I walk—more like I strut—up to Ema on the stage, shake her hand, and flick my hair back lightly, smiling at one specific boy in the audience, and secretly sighing in my head. I giggle flirtatiously—which is a feat in itself—and forcedly. Then I sit down with a huge grin and look at my interview, trying to push out of my head that lots of these people want me dead.

"Hello! Let's start off with a personal question if it's alright with you," Ema suggests.

"Oh, it's totally fine," I say like those stereotype "sexy" redheads always do.

"Good," she says with a smile of genuineness and close to being realistic. "What's life back home like?"

"Oh." I sigh. This is when I have to really play up that I have kids. Which I don't. Just my siblings. It's really lucky they're still with me and not dying in the community home. But the Peacekeepers and I have a sort of deal. Keep the kids good and quiet, and do so myself, and our little secret stays untouched. "Well, the fours kids and I—"

"Kids!" Ema exclaims. I knew that'd get attention. I have the whole story planned out. All a lie.

"Yes. Three-month-old Faye, two-year-old twins Lillian and River, and three-year-old Liam," I tell her, real tears that I push away threatening. How confused my siblings must be. "My friend's taking care of them, and will adopt them if the… unspeakable happens, but I fear so that I'll never see their faces again."

"Your friend? What of the father?" asks Ema. Everyone loves me, feels bad for me, and is interested in my vastly. And I have still proven single and therefore available and wanted.

"He ran away, abandoned us, a week after Faye was born," I lie. "But hey, what can you do, right?"

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I give hope and love to you and those darling little children struggling back in District Ten." That's the nicest thing I think that Ema Losjisey—or any Capitol person for that matter—will ever, _ever_ say to a district person.

"Thank you," I say genuinely, because no matter how big of a lie that was, Ema actually seemed to care. Real sympathy, unlike her hardly noticeable fake sympathy, was there. True, honest-to-goodness sympathy. I give a faint smile, and then snap back to sexy and flirtatious. Only few, rare, occasional, held-dear moments do I get to part from the reality from the Games and live, if only for a moment, in a magical wonderland where I am home with my siblings.

"You're very strong to have gone through all that. Addelynn Demetriu of District Ten, everybody!"

**_Buzzer_**

_Lion Leone-_

I walk up to the stage, embarrassed as ever because of the outfit they put me in: white t-shirt, black vest, black scarf, black jeans, black shoes—I hate it. I'd rather wear a dress than this.

But what can I do?

I sit down without a word, and try not to sigh as I assume my position for the interviews, looking past my outfit. If I don't, I'll be like a girl, and if I'm like a girl… well, I'm like a girl.

"Hello!" shouts Ema.

"Hello." We shake hands.

I, sitting up straight and tall and proud, pull my hand away and look out at the crowd. Like most other males, I have fans with signs that have my name on them. I turn away and look at Ema, readying myself for her question expectantly.

"So, how do you think you'll do tomorrow?" she asks.

"Perfect," I respond immediately.

"Perfect?" she exclaims.

"Yes, perfect," I affirm. "If I'm tough enough to be in the Careers, I can do anything."

"Careers! Whoop-tee-doo!" _Oh, dear—_"That's quite spectacular, you know, Maxmilian!"

I flinch at my full name, so used to "Lion" that it's like a major downgrade. And I don't deserve a downgrade, because ever since Collette and Drake started flirting, I've become basically the Head Career, forcing Hunter to train with us, letting Blessia wander off—which she, unfortunately, never does—pushing the two secret lovebirds away from each other. I swear—they're like repulsive lovesick puppies.

"Thanks," I say back almost doubtfully, though I'm not doubtful of a thing in the world. If the Careers, though horribly distracted unlike most, have taught me one thing, it's that being proud and maybe a little vain doesn't hurt, but in fact helps and makes sure others know you're not messing around.

"What's you favorite thing about the Capitol?" Ema asks.

I smirk. "The fans."

"The fans? That's a first!" The crowd roars.

"See? How is that not just… awesome?" _That _all for my angle.

"True. The charming Maxmilian Leone!"

**_Buzzer_**

_Roslynn Ellis-_

In the pretty blue, sleeveless dress, I go on. The dress is regular at the top in its royal-blue-ish color, and then ruffled and puffed at the bottom. It reaches just to my knees, and is accompanied by pink heels and pink, red, purple, and green necklaces.

Once the roars die, I am sat down, and Ema has greeted me, she starts to ask questions.

"How have things been?" asks my interviewer with a large smile.

And suddenly it's extremely hard not to scream every foul word in my vocabulary. That one question, while implanted by such a perfectly regular smile, such a deceivingly warm grin, is like screaming, "Give me another reason to be executed!" And if I didn't want to come home, I _would_ give them another reason to find a new interviewer.

"They've been wonderful," I answer sweetly, a sickly sweet smile on my face. Already on-edge and with Ema's remark in my mind, it's an almost insurmountable feat to even accomplish _that_.

"That's good." I can almost see the disappointment in her eyes. "So, what's your favorite thing about the Capitol?"

_Why, _why_, is she trying to get me to slip up and say something that will most certainly get her killed if her execution's not already underway?_ I think.

"Oh, the food," I answer. "What else could be more fantastic?"

"Very true," Ema concurs. "That is very true, indeed." Laughing, she adds, "It must show, since all these people are talking about it!"

I smile. "No, don't worry a thing."

"Okay, alright, fine," she gives in. "Why should people sponsor you, in your opinion?"

I smile. "Simply, and because I don't reveal secrets, because I can put up a fight."

"Oh. Well, the sweet and pretty Roslynn Ellis of District Eleven!"

**_Buzzer_**

_Rogis Trakholm-_

I walk up in a silver suit as Ema calls my name. She starts off asking questions about the Capitol, which I don't answer, and moves to questions about home. Still, I don't answer. Why should I? They just want to kill me. Ema takes to arena and Games questions, but I don't budge. Silent throughout the whole time, I'd say I didn't earn too many sponsors, though I wouldn't have if I'd spoken, either. It's worthless. If they see their "fun" in me, if they see I can kill and maybe make it for their entertainment, then sponsor me they will, but until then, I'm silent.

**_Buzzer_**

_Chaste Christensen-_

I'm portrayed as a fairy. Tight blue top that fluffs out in the middle and has dark blue sparkly fabric cascading down. My hair is curled in ringlets with a golden crown that has blue gems. Dark blue ribbons are flowing down around my face in waves. I am wearing white flats and blue fairy wings with dark blue sparkles.

"Hello," I say softly before Ema even says something other than when she called me up here with my name.

"Well, hi," he greets. "So, how are you?"

"I'm okay," I answer sweetly. "Just a little frightened by all these big tributes."

"Don't be," she says with a little-kid smile. "I'm sure you'll do great, what with your score and all!"

"Thank you."

"Of course. So, what was so spectacular that you did?" she asks. "You could say, I'm sure. To me…"

"I can't." I smile. "But maybe one day we'll all know."

"Okay… So, what was your favorite event here?" Ema questions, staring intently, loving the world she's living in that's so utterly dispatched from the real world.

"By far, it was now, the interviews," I answer sweetly. Mysterious and sweet little girl. Who won't just _love _me, especially when I tear their Capitol to the ground?

"Oh, thanks! That's a popular answer," says the woman before me. "Maybe I'm not terrible…"

The audience laughs and I force myself to smile. "You're magnificent up here, trust me."

Ema laughs—the whole audience does. Putty in my hands.

"You're so cute, too, with the fairy outfit and all," Ema tells me with a large smile. I smile back, laughing a little, and shaking my head. "Yes, you are, isn't she?"

The crowd roars. Definitely putty in my hands.

"Chaste Christensen of District Twelve!"

**_Buzzer_**

_Haver Grale-_

I go smoothly and cockily through the interview, forming a lifetime of riches in my head for after this to become mine.

**_Buzz-freaking-er!_**

**A/N: That's it! Arena's next! Review?**


	18. Chapter 18: Bloodbath

**A/N: Bloodbath Bloodbath Bloodbath Bloodbath Bloodbath Bloodbath Bloodbath Bloodbath Bloodbath Bloodbath Bloodbath Bloodbath Bloodbath Bloodbath Bloodbath Bloodbath Bloodbath Bloodbath Bloodbath Bloodbath Bloodbath Bloodbath Bloodbath Bloodbath Bloodbath Bloodbath Bloodbath Bloodbath!**

**What, you think this is the Bloodbath chapter? Well, you're wrong. It's the bloodbath.**

**And, of course, I couldn't settle with _just_ a castle for the arena. It's just not possible for me to. So I combined a whole bunch of ideas. **

**And… check out Blood Dreams by _24 and 24_, if you find the time. Do it, and I'll get Iggy, Finnick, Tobias, Angel, Ari, Katniss, Clove, Uriah, Zeke—_whoever floats your boat_—to give you a cookie, handmade by Peeta who was too sick today to be part of the "Giving the Reviewing, Blood Dream-checking Reader a Cookie" squad. **

_The tributes stand on their platforms, some ready, some terrified. They're wearing a gray jacket, black t-shirt or black blouse, mid-shin-length jean shorts, black socks, black combat boots, and a camouflage bracelet that says "District (their district number here) Tribute."_

_Surrounding them is the walls of a castle. But there is more. There is six corridors of the lower floor, three rooms—one of them being the one the Cornucopia is in—and a foggy, misty place upstairs where you can't see and can barely think, but are persuaded, because something tells you something great is on the castle tops. _

_Outside, there are three yards of grass that you can walk around, and a pentagon of fifty-foot tall walls with doors in each around you. One, the one in front, goes to the Ring of Fire—a desert with nothing to drink or eat, but with a forest at the end. The door only opens every five days._

_The next one to the right is the Ring of Snow—a frozen wasteland with the occasional log, but unfrozen, clear drinking water—the only natural drinking water in the arena. But if someone else is in the room with you, they will see you, as the only wasteland is devoid of any land but perfectly flatland. No food naturally here. The door only opens every three days._

_The next to the right is the Ring of Greenery—it has meadows and meadows and meadows of grass. Sounds nice, right? Well, if you're starved, there are edible plants here. But it's like the wasteland; if someone else is in the room, they can see you for miles. No natural water here. The door opens every six days._

_The next to the right is the Ring of Wind—it's their districts! Each sees their own district in this room, and each tribute they see looks like someone they care about or just know and wouldn't kill. The door opens every twenty-nine hours. _

_The next to the right is the Ring of the Shadows—this Ring has numerous counts of deception. You go one way and think it's in a forest, but end up still on the cracking ice that's very hot and is the color of lava. It's lava ice…? If you actually make it to the forest, you're very intelligent. No natural food or water except in the forest. The door opens every nine days._

**_D1- 17- (Hunter Blackthorne)_**

The arena is… unexpected. That's all I can say to explain it. I'm not even sure what it is other than a really, _really_ big room with old-timey things.

_Ten, nine, eight…_ The seconds shown on the Cornucopia fade, each being replaced by a new number. But soon, a new number won't come. And bloodshed will rip lives away. I try to smirk. And I sort of succeed. But it's not really hiding the guilt in my eyes. _Three, two…_ The gong sounds, and I take off.

Knives are placed very near me. I pick them up and throw them at a little girl trying to escape the castle's walls with a boy. Since she doesn't see it coming, and it lands right in her lower shoulder, she drops to the ground, but gains her feet again and runs, blood flowing rapidly. They escape together, holding hands and running.

I look around for my allies. They're scattered. Blessia is next to Drake far away, pinning down a tribute, and Collette is repeatedly whipping another across the room. I decide to continue on my way without grouping with any of them until after the bloodbath. It's better that way. Sometimes, since they're all _very_ Career, they get on my every last nerve.

A loud _bang!_ fills the room, and the next thing I know, I'm on my knees, blood running down my leg. The pain is excruciating. No further bullets come at me, so I stay where I am—a knife in hand just in case someone approaches me, and quickly examine my wound. I'm not exactly sure, but I think it's pretty bad.

Someone does come at me, a mace with them. I throw a knife at their heart and they drop. I don't look at the tribute I killed. I run—more like limp fast—to the Cornucopia and jump around the fighting tributes to the back, throwing myself in, and almost blacking out from pain when I almost land on my wound, sending ripples through my leg. I search through a suitcase near me for medicine and find none. I guess I have to depend on sponsors to send me something later.

I clutch my leg and take a sleeping bag from that suitcase and burrow in it to hide. And then I do something impossible. In the heat and warmth and aching throb like a heartbeat and the lack of sleep, I fall asleep in the middle of a Hunger Games's bloodbath.

**_D3- 16- (Drew Reox)_**

The gong sounds. I grab a backpack about a yard away from my platform and sprint towards Myra as she gets knives. It takes a while, and jumping around a dying body, but soon I'm close to her… when she throws a knife at my heart. I duck just in time, and the knife nicks my ear pretty good, but that's it.

"Oh, Drew!" she exclaims. "I'm sorry!"

"It's fine," I reassure her. "Let's go."

_She's lucky I like her_. Last night, before we went to bed, I was thinking deeply about the Games, ruminating on all the lives to be lost. And when Myra's name came up as I assessed my strategies, I realized just how much I don't want her to die; I realized it to the feeling's full extent.

We sprint off, the first to get out of this death house. Outside, I look back. It's a castle. They're fighting to the death in a castle. I shake it off and fully notice the walls around me, blocking us from the rest of the arena. There's five walls all connected around the castle. The doors are all open. Above each door is marked with something. The door before us says "Ring of Fire." I don't want to know why it's called that.

"Myra, which should we go in?" I ask softly.

She thinks about it for a second, probably weighing out each option carefully. "I don't know. We have to hurry, Drew."

I know that. And I'm trying to. I only see two other walls that are near me and not around the other side of the castle. One is "Ring of Snow," and another is "Ring of Shadows." I trust the Ring of Shadows more. "Let's go. Follow me." And I run deep into the Ring of Shadows.

As soon I'm in it, I have no clue why it got the name it has. It's bright and sunny, and there's a few twists and turns until you reach it, but a forest is near. Good for food. I wave Myra to keep following me and head for the forest. Once I've almost reached the first tree, my feet become stingingly hot, even through my shoes. "Ah!" I jump, stamping my feet to rid myself of the heat.

"Nice, Drew," says Myra. "Real manly."

"No, don't feel it, but the ground is _burning hot_," I tell her.

"You're standing on ice. Red ice." Myra smiles a little but.

"Shut up, it's hot!"

She rolls her eyes and I step out of the way. Stepping onto the ice, close to the "tree," or whatever, her eyes widen and she looks at one of the soles of her shoes. The black boot soles are melted. I look down at my soles. Mine, too, are melted. This was all a trap.

"We have to get out of here." I nod in assent to her proposal.

But here is the thing about that—we don't know how.

**_D5- 12- (Sam Ryans)_**

The gong sounds. Mir, who was three tributes down, is nowhere to be seen. I'm still on my platform, terrified and unmoving. A hand yanks at the back of my shirt. I kick and scream until another hand claps itself over my mouth. _It's the Careers,_ I think. _I'm going to die, here and now._ I bite the hand. It lets go. "Mir!" I scream.

"Hush, Sam, it's me," she snapped, letting me free. She lets me loose and we start to run, but then I look to the side and see a Career whipping a corpse. I freeze immediately. I can't move. "Sam! We have to get out of here!"

Mir yanks me again, and I start to run. I remember how Scotty always said before we cam into the arena that we remind her of Zander and Midnight. I remember them really now, because Midnight was from our district, and I remember how Zander committed suicide when Midnight died. I don't want Mir to do that for me. The memory really wakes me up. I really start to run after that, getting my feet to grind against the medieval-patterned carpet.

Soon, as we're leaving, just as we've pushed open the large, heavy, wooden doors, a knife whizzes into Mir's shoulder. We don't take it out—what will it hurt to leave it in until we're safe?—and I lock hands with her, letting her squeeze the pain into my hand. I never thought I'd feel adrenaline since everything is so scary that I never really get in adrenaline-rushing situations, but I feel so much of it that the pain inflicted by Mir's tight grasp doesn't hurt.

"Come on, let's find a safe pla—" Pulled up short by what's ahead of us, Mir doesn't get to finish what she was saying. It's not that extreme of an arena, but I expected no more than water, keeping us in the castle, or a vast, "endless," perfectly flat field before us. Instead, it's walls with doors.

We circle the castle—which takes some time and a lot of running. By the time that we get to the back—about half an hour later—there is noise of a scream and shuffling feet around front. Before us is the "Ring of Wind." There's no stalling. Loud, fast footsteps race towards us, and the unmistakable sound of someone cocking a gun floods my mind. We race into the Ring of Win immediately.

And the arena is not the arena, nor is Mir… well, nor is she Mir.

She's my neighbor's daughter, Alexi.

**_D4- 12- (Ryan Melly)_**

I know only one thing: So far, I'm alive. I've made it past the unreasonably small bloodbath. Which can mean only one thing: There's something to come soon that will make us all fight. I may be young, but I sure am not stupid. I know I should keep watch at all times. But I got a knife on me and a gun. Maybe I can get lucky again and hit a bulls-eye if needed.

Gray's at my side suddenly, racing to get us out the castle. I thought he'd abandon me first shot he got. I guess not.

"Hey, let's hurry and see what's out here," he says.

"Let's go upstairs instead," I suggest, almost yelling over the noise. The sickening noise. It's sick. I want this all to stop—the Games, the death, _the Capitol's rein_. But right now, I can't focus on that. "I saw a staircase in the next room of the castle. No one's going to take the time to go up there—not even the Careers. Come one, Gray, let's go."

He looks back. And I can tell he's really considering it. But in the end, he lets me down softly, like I care, and explains to me, "Sorry, kid—it's just too far. We'll get killed for sure. Let's head…" He trails off for a moment, and before I can see what's ahead, he grabs my arm and yanks me to the wall inside the castle, me on the inside and him on the outside. "Let's head up those stairs."

We run, unnoticed, to the door. When we reach it, I see that inside is a boy. Gray grabs the gun from my hand and pulls the trigger, hitting his heart. I really want to stay in this room, with its flawless bedding the bed's fancy red bedding. The room's chairs are plush and remind me of the Justice Building, but other than that, I love them. The dead kid in the room is sort of a letdown, though…

We both pile up the stairs, climbing as fast and silent as we can. The top of the stairs is in view when loud _cracks_ of a whip can be heard, getting louder and louder, until it's invading my eardrums heavily and erupting in my brain. Gray, telling me to _go, go, go_, falls slightly behind. Then he shoots up, faster than me, and I rapidly pick up my pace faster than I could, try to match his. He reaches the top of the steps and grabs my hand, then _yanks_ me to the top of the steps. We go through a door, quietly click it closed behind us, and dart to…

Endless fog.

**_D1- 16- (Kaiden Johnson)_**

I run, making my feet rush forward. But once I get to the door, I see the arena—a closed-off place, with walls separating us from the rest of the arena, and on the walls you can see the outlines of doors, but each and every one that I can see are closed. I run to one, pushing the knob-free gateway, and sighing, aggravated, bowless. I didn't even get a bow in all that fighting.

Nope, nope, nope—what did I get? Bruises, cuts, wounds beyond belief—and a slice, just a slice, of bread! All _that_, for bread.

I start to run, looking for exits, pressing the wall, until more tributes flood out. I can tell that this year's Hunger Games is going to have _two bloodbaths_. I start to run more, more, more, looking for exits. There has _got_ to be an exit, right? Right? But I know I'm wrong, that this is the Capitol I'm playing under, that they just can't wait to see bloodshed and it doesn't matter how fair it is.

Hey, maybe I can throw bread at the Careers and escape to the castle. For an exit.

That's when the second bloodbath breaks out. A whip cracks, I cringe, and a scream erupts. Only, it's not mine. And I feel no pain. Is it really my scream and I'm just dying so I can't tell and can feel no pain? No, that's not it; that's preposterously impossible, right? Right? Honestly, I'm unsure of anything right now, and that's when a strong, tall boy comes up to me, raged, and I throw the bread weakly.

Like, _Hey, dude, you're gonna kill me, and even though I could make an alliance, I anger you more by throwing bread at you_.

His axe sinks itself in my brain.

The pain is excruciating. You know how they tell you that if something like this happened, it'd be almost okay, because it would be painless and death would happen immediately? "They" are idiots. It lasts for about, um, years, and my mind swirls as I _die_, thinking of how much I hope _anyone_ kills the Capitol one day, not angry at this boy who was just trying to survive, but at _them_, those who force us to come here at all.

My _dying_ thought is: _I wonder if the bread was still warm_.

**_D11- 17- (Rogis Trakholm)_**

I'd never, ever admit it to _anyone_, and in _any_ other circumstance, I wouldn't even admit it to myself, but right now, right here, in this inescapable occurrence, I'm terrified beyond belief, literally quaking in my boots, wishing I could escape and go home and lie in bed awhile and sleep in for the most of the day, forgetting the Games today, always, and forever.

But no, instead I got lucky and got to be _in_ them.

Feeling resentful, I decide to let sarcasm do something it rarely ever does: overtake me.

Knives, whips, spears, swords, axes, and bow-equipped—and bread, don't forget the bread—people are around me. I spent my time sneaking out of the castle, around the bloodbath, and when I did, that's when everyone decided to commence the second bloodbath, while I was so completely weaponless and helpless that it's not even _funny_.

I stand, kind of frozen, staring blankly at the girl with the bow—the girl from District Seven—as she tells her ally, whom I believe is the snot ball from Twelve, to run for it. She loads her bow, and I decide that that would be the perfect time to _start running_. So I do.

And I'm not an idiot. I would have realized that I was running into a big rock. So that means the Gamemakers pushed it up through the ground so I'd trip. They love butting in, making it unfair, don't they? I scramble to get up, tripping myself even more, as the arrow is released. My terror grows, and so does a silent hate for the Capitol. Then relief. Then suddenly, relief fills me as her arrow hits a rock.

"Yes," I utter under my breath.

I scramble up to my feet, terrorized and adrenaline-filled. The adrenaline is what keeps me rolling, knowing I have seconds to get to the other side of the rock, duck, wait for the arrow, and then dart to the side of the castle. That's where I'll have problems escaping the arrow, since it's a pretty flat area, with nothing bu—

**_D7- 16- (Tasi Merkava)_**

I look over as I start to run and see a kid about my size from District Eleven running from a rock. At least, I think that's what's happening with him. Then an arrow from Temari's bow punctures his back, right where his heart would be, and he just _drops_, immediately, dead.

_That's_ my district partner. You know, I'm starting to think I should have allied with her when I had the chance.

I run forward, my axe held up, ready to kill. I'd love to kill one of the Careers, get that competition out of the way. It seems that this second bloodbath is going to be a solid fight to the death where anyone that's not allies is going to get _killed_. So that means it's between the four Careers, Temari and her boyfriend-like ally, and me. Since the boys from One and Eleven just died.

And I killed one of them.

But something strange that I can't place my finger on is happening with the Careers. And then I get it: One of them isn't there fighting with the other three.

**_D7- 18- (Temari Hyuga)_**

I can't kill anyone. I can't. But I did. I had to. I _had_ to. Life or death, right?

That doesn't make it okay. This is all a sick bundle of crap they force us to do, and then make us live with the dead tributes on our shoulders for the rest of our lives—however long they may be. It makes my teary-eyed, and it's hard not to have a breakdown and just fall to my knees, crying my heart out. They may tell you crying don't make anything better, but if you're holed up somewhere and this happens to you, I beg to differ.

**_D2- 17- (Drake Flint)_**

I love seeing her bring that whip down on someone and then the blood erupting from their wound, the determined look on her face as she does it, the one that screams for blood. God, I just love _her_. She's so beautiful and determined and lovely and strong and magnificently amazing…

I snap out of as Max—I hate calling him Lion, it's like a demotion to _me_, the leader of the group—nudges me, and brings a sword down on mine. I wake up and threaten, "Do _not_ make me kill you."

"Because you _could_," he says, and the sarcasm's obvious. I growl almost, and then look away as he tells me, "Get your head in gear and let's get this over with so we can get our bearings."

His sword rakes the flesh of a bloodied, almost-dead girl with a bow as she crawls away pathetically. I smile at the sight; I feel triumphant in every way, despite that it wasn't even me who killed her. It's the sight of her dying, bloody and pathetic, which brings me pride and honor and triumph. It's the thought that I'll make someone else die almost exactly the same.

I lunge at a boy with an axe, preparing myself to do just what I've thought of. I throw a punch at his jaw and lip, busting his lip. We both put our weapons in our belts and throw punches, hand-to-hand training playing in. I land a kick in his ribs. He staggers back, and then runs at me. He's taller than me, but it's obvious I'm stronger. Angry as ever, he jumps at me, punching my throat.

I clutch my throat tightly. My voice will be hoarse until tomorrow from that, but, croaking for air, I whip out my sword before he can clumsily get his axe and bring it down at his heart. And that's that. The Careers won both bloodbaths. Now we just have to find Hunter and then regroup. Then we go out for our night hunt.

The doors on the gray walls open and I know we've done well.

**A/N: Mwa ha ha ha ha ha! I threw in a twist for the bloodbath! That's right! Sorry to those whose tributes unexpectedly died in the second bloodbath, and check out Blood Dreams _after_ you review and then look up at the cookie paragraph in the first AN. **


	19. Chapter 19: Fences

**A/N: Day Two, what do ya say?**

**I love it when I finally get to start titling the chapters not accorded to their content. Sure, I may _suck_ at making titles, and it may be the worst and least important title you've ever seen, but just know… I had fun doing it… *sentimentally silent moment while saluting no one and everyone at once* Ah, see?**

**But I'm going to start putting up parts of songs before each chapter that remind me of something that happened in the chapter or just remind me of The Hunger Games. That way, if I can't think of a title, I'll just name it after the song. Plus, it's just cool to me.  
**

**So, I still think you should check the heck out Blood Dreams by _24 and 24_. If you don't want to, or just hate 24/24 stories because you don't like everyone's writing styles, but you just _love_ mine—'cause who don't?—then just follow Lila or D2. Just do that, 'kay? Just kidding…**

**Kind of.**

**Also, check out Scream by _Dances With Vampires_. It's another 24/24 collaboration with lots of open spots for _you_! That's right, you, right there! And I am Dronen "Drone" Freen, the District 13 male! Just read the prologue to find why it's got D13 as a district. _And_ I wrote the prologue! Applaud me, darlings! **

**Anyway, random moment over. Let's move onto the story, 'kay? That alright for you?**

* * *

_Don't look up, just let them think there's no place else you'd rather be._**  
**

_You're always on display, for everyone to watch and learn from.  
_

_Don't you know by now? You can't turn back because this road is all you'll ever have.  
_

_And it's obvious that you're dying, dying. Just living proof that the camera's lying.  
_

_And oh, oh, open wide, 'cause this is your night, so... smile.  
_

_'Cause you'll go out in style. You'll go out in style._

If you let me I could, I'd show you how to build your fences, set restrictions, separate from the world.  


_The constant battle that you hate to fight. Just blame the limelight._

_Fences, by Paramore_

* * *

**_D9- 15- (Artemis Nightheart) _**

As I wake up, I realize I'm panting heavily. I barely believe that I'm alive. Then when I look around, the disbelief grows. I must have… won? What, did I sleep through the Games and everyone else just killed each other simultaneously and forgot me? No, because I don't remember victor interviews either, or being taken up by the hovercraft…

I furrow my brow, frustrated. Why? Because I woke up in my very own bed, back in District Nine. I get up, taking a deep breath and shaking the confusion off. Maybe it was all a long, awful dream. Maybe today's the reaping and I'm safe again… unless the escort actually picks me. Really, there's no other explanation that's logical. Yup, I just went _poof!_ and ended up back here because my pet unicorn named Bill is magical.

Rolling my eyes, I move to get dressed in black clothes so I'm not recognized. Pulling up my hood, I go outside and move through the district carefully. At the butcher's place, I stop and rummage through the trash. When it's empty, I pucker my lips like I've tasted something sour and head to the front, bracing myself for stealing.

Oddly, no one's up yet. Usually workers are crawling and creeping through the town, even on reaping day. But I guess since this is the year after a very chaotic year where one of our previous tributes explicitly shown their rebellion, they want us to take a nice, long nap and make sure that we, the eligible kids, don't do that if we're reaped. "Yeah, right," I whisper.

Inside the butcher's, I see no one's behind the counter. I almost feel bad. There are two butchers in town, and this one's a single dad whose wife committed suicide after three of their kids died in the Hunger Games—two of them in the same year. All he's got left is his dwindling shop and a little two-year-old daughter. I'd go to the other place out of pity if our situation weren't worse and if their security system weren't imported directly from District Three, and such a Capitol-ish system. They're the richest people in the district.

Anyway, I search through the counters and shelves and refrigerators that are supposed to be filled with meat. And though when I stick out my hand to grab something, it's as if they were holographic, and it's… not… real food… Just my imagination… Oh, this is all a projection, a hoax! It wasn't a dream! Why would District Nine specifically be part of the arena? To Gray's and, of all tributes, _my_ advantage? To torture me or something? Because it's not to be put here for me to use in my advantage. They're furious with me and my rebelliousness. I smile.

And then I head to the front of the district, intent on getting out of here. Because I just now realized how empty and hollow my "home" was, and that really hurts my heart. I've got to get out of here. Running and knowing my district's small and I didn't go far, I reach the wall quick. And my heart bursts. It's closed.

**_D10- 18- (Maxmilian Leone)_**

I gleam at my sword's shine and the bloodiness I have yet to wash off. I take a sip of my canteen and revel in yesterday's death toll. Today's a new day, and I'm sure more deaths are to come my way. I sigh and smirk, looking over at the three idiots who are in something that could be called a love triangle. With _that_ going on, Drake may think he's the one in charge, the one calling the shots, but he's not. He is _so_ not. I am.

Basking in the limelight. I never thought when I was reaped that I would be sitting in a comfy, medieval chair, in charge of the Careers, and basking in the limelight. Then again, when I was reaped, and up to about the last training day, I was a complete and utter idiot. I was too nice and soft and scared. Especially compared to now. Getting in the Careers is by far the best thing that's ever happened to me.

I can honestly say that I'm more badass than them now. And I'm going to win these Games.

I play around with the rubber "District 10 Tribute" bracelet. I hate it that Addelynn's nearly wearing the same one, except her letters are red and mine are black. She's going to die, and she's going to go hard. Whereas I will not. I will go to the top. I will succeed. I won't stop until I do, until I get to the finish line. And that means I won't stop living until I get there.

I take a deep breath and smile. My boredom that's undoubtedly on my shoulders is about to end. With a smirk where a smile used to be, I stand up, turn around to face the three idiots behind me on a couch, talking quietly, thinking about who's going to get Drake and who's going to come crawling to me. I announce proudly, "Come on, we should go hunt tributes. Like, now, before they all kill each other."

"When did you start calling the shots?" snaps Drake, standing up.

I smile, excited for a battle that I _will_ win. Because I do that—I win. I always win. "I started calling the shots when you let me in and then started obsessing over _those two_," I retort.

"You don't want to mess with m—"

"Oh, really?" I ask tauntingly. "What, you think you're a better swordsman than me?"

"You listen here," he starts, walking toward me, close, and I see that I'm about two inches taller than him.

"Drake!" We both look back at the idiotic girl from Four that shouldn't even classify as a Career at the same time. "Stop, we need him here. It's a small enough group, anyway, right, since the guys from One and Four were weak?"

"_Fine_," Drake says, backing off. "But still, you listen here, kid." He points to me. "_I'm_ in charge, and I could beat you with my eyes closed and one-handed."

"Want to test that theory?" This gets him rallied. Both girls have to yell his name before he's just red in the face and not out to slit my throat. Though the first chance he got, I'm sure he would. "Let's go," I order, specifically to annoy him. Then we set off, towards the main doorway a couple corridors away. Meaning about a mile, since these corridors are very lengthy. Especially with the wounded Hunter.

"It is fine," I hear Drake say up front as he pecks Blessia on the cheek.

**_D3- 14- (Myra De La Rosa)_**

A person subjected to scientific experiments in the Capitol or any other district besides District Three—because I'd know—secretly does such things to humans could encounter anything. Of course, the main testing would be to see if newfound makeup was harmful to humans for the Capitol. Because they could _never_ do that to an animal. But other than that, I imagine with such evil minds as they have in the Capitol, they could even submit to going as low as testing humans with natural substances such as fire and whatnot. After all, how do all the mutts that have _ever_, _ever_ been seen have a slightly or large human quality? Surely it wasn't _just_ human_ DNA_ that made the jabberjays obtain human vocal chords.

So I imagine that subjecting Drew and I to this fiery ice for what seems like forever as we wait for the door to open doesn't even make _one_ Capitol citizen think twice. We're so used to the pain. There are only five things I feel throughout day and night: agony—the agony is _endless_; thirst—my tongue is getting drier and drier, but I don't dare move for fear that the door will open while I'm gone and it'll close before I can get out; hunger—my stomach is in pain, but my reasons are the same as for thirst; tiredness—I can only barely keep my eyes open, but if I go to sleep and the door opens and then I don't wake up until it closes, I'm doomed; and longing—I so desperately long to get away from here, out of here.

Call me crazy, but I don't _like_ sitting on fire ice all day.

That longing I mentioned could also be seen as hate, for right now, I really _hate_ the Capitol and its citizens.

"Drew," I burst out, bored beyond belief. "Drew, the door's not opening anytime soon. We got to get away from… Oh, no…" Beside me, a foot away, is a thick, deep, icy and red hot crack, inching its way over to us quick. I nudge Drew, point to the crack, and stand up, frantic. I quickly scramble away from the crack, only to stumble on another. Oh, the pain is so achingly awful…

In a daze of pain, I don't notice until I'm freefalling down into an abyss with fire at its pit. When I open my eyes, just as my head goes under the ice, I scream. And scream. And stick my hand up. Screaming more, I notice a hand, and then a head, all the way until I see his waste submerge, and if I _stretch_ with the right timing… Doing that, my foot—all the way up to my ankle—is drenched. In fire.

_This is the end._

I black out.

**_D5- 13- (Mir Rawlins) _**

"Sam!" I call out. I have no clue where he is. But beside me… is my brother? Yeah. My token is a bracelet with his name engraved. I've seen pictures. We've been talking and stuff all night. It's been nice meeting him, even if this is only a dream.

"What?" says my brother, the one who made it past birth, but died in a Hunger Games bloodbath.

"No, I'm calling for Sam, my ally," I tell dream-Camden.

"I _am_ Sam, Alexi …" He trails off as I whip to him, eyes wide. I step back a second and then fall over a rock that I've come to be used to. Know the exact place. But like I didn't see what he said coming, I didn't see the rock coming. "Alexi, what're you…?"

"Sam, it's… it's not Alexi—it's Miracle," I explain, frightened.

We both stare at each other a second. He should've seen this coming when I bawled and hugged him last night as soon as I saw him, despite how much it hurt to do even that. It hurts to walk still, with the goriness and the barely-healed wound. Luckily, we got some sponsors before we both went into a funky dreamland or something, and got me patched up. Or something. I don't know what happened.

I think it was a blessing to meet Camden, even if it was really Sam.

"No, Alexi, you're you, not Mir! You're you, and I-I'm _home_, with you as my next door neighbor," he stutters, stifling tears. I stand up and pull him into a deep hug, terror rising in me. Am I really going to have to look at my dead brother's face for the rest of the Games? I guess it's sad, but I should be happy. I get to _see_ him. It's a blessed feeling that courses through my veins.

But now back to my mission/plan: Save Sam. Now that I know who this guy really is—Sam—I can focus. We're walking up the square, hand-in-hand, and I'm thinking this when we see my mother crouching down at the… the door! But my mother's crying and begging for the door to open.

Despite that Camden is Sam, that doesn't mean this isn't my mother, right? It has to be. She thinks I'm on the other side of the wall, and is begging to get me safe. That has to be it. I won't be able to bear it if it's not. So I brace myself and tap the shoulder of my weeping mother. As I do, I begin to dread that I'll see the face of a tribute ready to kill. I set back my shoulders and wish with everything in me that I had a bow.

The lady—my mother—looks up at me momentarily, in shock. And then joy spreads over her face. Her tears of sadness turn to tears of joy. She yanks me down to the ground and cries into my shirt, "Mira, Mira." She's never called me that before, but I like it, and it's my _mother_. I'd see her any day, and especially over this horribleness. I have to look at the bright side, though. Sam is here with me.

Speaking of him, I can't see him. And mom's not saying "Mira" anymore. She's saying _Mithra_. And asking how I got here. That's when I decide I should go, despite that I think it's my mother. It's not. So not.

And therefore, if Sam and I don't get out of her way soon, we'll both die.

**_D2- 16- (Collette Finch)_**

"_Listen_," I snarl from behind Lion. He turns around and looks at my skeptically, eying me from head to toe. "I will kill you if you do something like that again, you hear me? Drake's in charge and I'm back up. There are no alternatives." I take a knife from my belt and hold it against his heart. He doesn't back down. "Fine, be brave, but you're not getting anything by me. Now, _get behind me_."

"Sure, sweetie," Lion says, getting behind me. I instinctively start to grab my whip, think twice, and then he adds, "There you go. Let go of the weapon. Whatever speed you need." I take my whip out and let it drag next to me just in case I need to hastily draw it and whip quick.

We go a while around the castle, searching for tributes that had fallen asleep back there when the doors closed and haven't woken up yet. I doubt there are any, but it's under the commander's orders. He's so hot… but just ignorant sometimes. Well, no, he's not. He's really smart. I just bet that his little girlfriend suggested that. What does he even see in here? She's stupid. An idiot. And yet he pecks her cheek occasionally for no reason and whenever she flutters her eyelashes he scoots closer for a moment, and holds her hand all the time… He's so romantic…

I need to get my head in the Games, not in Drake. I look away from the back of his head and look around. I see no one. I just really want to take my anger from the bitch on Drake's shoulder and the jackass behind me out on someone—whether it is them or someone else. Either way, I want to make someone's cannon fire. I want to make their blood spill. What was I thinking at the reaping when I thought "volunteer" was a deadly word? Sure, for the rest of these people it is, but I'm golden. Glorious. A victor.

I'm the first to hear the heavy breathing around the corner. I hurry in front of Drake and his _lover_, raising my whip. "You're stuck now!" I shout and sprint my way to the castle's corner. Around it, I see a boy, curled up, whispering something undetectable. I kneel down and lean in closer, then say, loud, into his ear, "Hey! You hear me? No point in running now, kid."

"Why? Why me, poppa? Couldn't you have changed this?" he says to the gray sky. I look up, too, and see that smoke is coming through the second floor's window. I might have to check that out if I ever ditch the Careers. I might. There isn't anything left for me since Drake is brainwashed by the slut. "Temari, where are you?" This he yells. "Come save me, with your bow!"

"The girl with the bow?" I question, smiling. "We killed her, hon."

He looks up at me, dumbfounded. I nod. Then, standing, I raise my whip again and bring it down hard, its _crack!_ resonating in my head, bouncing off the walls of my brain. Blood falls down from his cut shoulder. He's now very weak, so I flip him over and onto his stomach and whip his back like a traditional whipping, but harder, draw maroon blood that flows to the grass. After about fifteen whips, I flip him back over and whip his face—his eyes, cheeks… any and every flesh the sharp metal at the end of the weapon can find.

The cannon has long since boomed when I turn back around to a wide-eyed four. I don't smile, though it's hard not to. I saunter off, ahead of them, and towards the Ring of Greenery.

**_D9- 15- (Artemis Nightheart)_**

I wipe my eyes and sit up, looking around. My hallucination of Mithra has made me want to be strong. I stand and become aware of a ruthless headache. And a heartache. And maybe a stomachache. I ache all over. I take off, in a different direction than hallucinogenic Mithra did. I'm dreading a blackout from when I was beaten for stealing the time I got caught. But oddly, that doesn't happen.

**_D10- 18- (Addelynn Demetriu)_**

The horribleness of placing me in District Ten for the Hunger Games sucks me away to another world. And they really had to name it "Ring of Wind"? Tricking those of us in here? Or am I alone? They've gotten in my head and… twisted me in two. My heart races; I'm very alert. My eyes dart everywhere. But my mind stays in one place: This is sick.

I keep going back the way I came: towards the door. Maybe it's open. I doubt it though. I seriously, seriously doubt it. Still, it never hurts to try. So I continue to walk. District Ten isn't the largest place in the country, and I only went downtown to see if the bakery was open for some pastries—because I have a huge craving for some—so I estimate I'll get to the door in, oh, fifteen minutes.

I close my eyes for a second. I love to test myself when I'm alone to see if I can navigate my district. Maybe it's not the sharpest thing to do in the Hunger Games, but I have my bow and it's better than the head-splitting nothingness that made me afraid of every step I took. This—the navigation—feels like home. Eyes closed. Working my way back to the home where I must take care of my siblings and pretend they're mine.

That reminds me of Dru and how he's taking care of brave little Liam who is only six and running the house back home, and serious and smart Lillian, and funny and charming River, and sweet baby Faye. I know that Dru's keeping them home, making it seem like our old home is abandoned, that he is just visiting his old friend's home as she goes through the Games, not letting the kids step foot outside or make too much ruckus or anything to draw attention. Because if too much attention is drawn to them, they'll be taken to the orphanage and I won't get them back without paying for them if I win. And their heads will hang; their ribs will show even more… I just don't want them there. If I lose, Dru will take them, but that's unthinkable. I have got to win and then we can all be a happy family, with money—the siblings and I can be. And one day I can meet a boy and we can wed and take care of the kids until they grow up and then the mysterious boy and I can have kids of our own—or not. Either way, we'll have raised my siblings, and life will be perfect, and I'll be a victor, and the kids will never have to take another tesserae slip again, and neither will Dru or his sister and my friend Alexis, or our friend Mickayla. I'll be so rich that I'll provide for all of us and everything will be a fairytale and life will be a dreamland of perfection, and the only downside will be that each year I'll have to try and forget the face or faces or the dead tribute or tributes that I mentor.

Life will be a dreamland fantasy.

As soon as I open my eyes, I'm frozen for a second, and then I load my bow. "Hello? Alexis?" For some reason, I don't want to believe that this is Alexis, because the whole thing is sick enough already, and to put in one of my best friends… it's horrible. But she's so… much… like Alexis… down to an exact detail. Even her terrified expression is what I'd imagine Alexis's to be in this position.

"No… Lydia? It's… uh…" She trails off, staring at me with wicked focus. _Oh, no._ A horrifying thought forms in my mind. What if they've hijacked her, brainwashed her, or tortured her? What if she no longer knows who she is? Suddenly I'm very scared for Dru's little sister. "I'm not Artemis. The one who said the special speech at interviews? District Nine. I don't suppose you're actually Lydia Tiell, are you?"

"No," I answer. "Uh…" There's nothing to say. Are we allies? Are we about to fight? She's not taking out the knife she has in her belt. "Um… allies?"

"Sure," she says.

"Addelynn," I tell her. "District Ten."

"I remember you." This catches me by surprise. I look up, confused. As if she knew what I was thinking, she adds, "I thought you were really pretty in the interviews and Opening Ceremonies."

"Huh, I thought every female's eyes were glued to my damn district partner," I say in fake disbelief, and start to laugh a little. This Artemis joins in.

"Please, I'm sure Gray is a whole lot worse," Artemis answers back exasperatedly.

"No, I can bet you a million dollars that he isn't. Max is a _Career_, and so vain it's not even funny," I admit.

"Well, Gray's super serious and we're so opposite in personalities that we ended up screaming at each other on the train," she tells me. I smile at her story and lightly laugh again. "Hey, you know a way out of here other than the door? It's closed, and I want to get out of District Nine."

"Nine? I see Ten," I tell her. I sigh. "It's so weird looking at you and seeing someone else… But anyway, how long ago were you at the door?"

"About half an hour ago," she answers.

"We might as well try and go see, then." She nods to my proclamation and we set off, as allies.

What a turn of events.

**_D11- 17- (Roslynn Ellis)_**

Don't you just hate the feeling of not only experiencing your worst fear, but also walking through an endless, burning-hot desert while dehydration sets in? I sure do. But what I use to motivate myself is the treetops I can see over the hills. The forest is miles away and will take days to get there. I can't go back through the door. I just can't. Right now, I just hope that my mentor will send me some water. After all, I am his only tribute left, now that Rogis is dead.

It's so weird to say: Rogis is dead. It's almost like I don't believe it. He wasn't one of those nameless, faceless tributes out there. He had a name, a face, a history, and I knew all of it. Maybe we were mortal opposites, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't like him even if just a little bit. And it feels like my best frenemy just died. Because he did. And now all these feelings are coming up, too, and I have to cope with them.

But instead of coping with them, or focusing on how terrified I am that I'm alone, I decide to think about something I previously thought. I consider most of these people nameless, faceless tributes, ones I haven't met and have no feeling toward—except maybe the younger ones. But they're not. None of them are nameless, faceless people. They all have stories, lives, districts, and homes. They all have dreams and wishes and hopes and, for some, deaths. Most will never be seen in person again. For some of their families, they have no reason to hope to ever speak to these people in here again, because they're already lost.

I wonder whose role is worse: The dead tribute, ripped from the world, not to see their family again. But they feel no pain, they feel no hate, and they feel no death. Sure, their dreams and their world were crushed, but the family—that's the role that I now think of as worse. They feel pain of the lost every day for who knows how long. They're still in the void-filled world, where the void could only be filled by the dead. They're still seeing the broken family with the one less person. And it's worse for them than it was for me when I lost my mother, because their family member or friend has died because of power crazy psychos that run a dying country and force kids to kill each other. They feel the hate that tears them limb-from-limb because their loved one is dead, and there's nowhere for them to put that hate. They feel death. They feel like dying every day because of the loved tribute. And they feel the deaths of all those the Capitol kills from that day on. Their dreams are destroyed and their world demolished.

And yet, they go along all hum-dory like it's never happened. It amazes me, now that I think about it, how the people heal. It must take forever. From what little I've seen, it does take forever. For a while, I think they cry all the time, or have slumped shoulders constantly, their eyes empty. And then after a while, they just look… better. I don't get it. I don't _want_ to get it. If I live and Crissy or Blaine or Rosemary or Casandra goes into the Games and dies… They just can't. I don't want to live, broken, and be forced to learn how to mend, how to heal. I'm just glad that Aiden is no longer eligible for the Games.

At least he, when no one else I'm close to, not even myself, is safe.

**_D12- 12- (Chaste Christensen)_**

My bow is ready, for I am afraid. I am truly, honestly afraid. And I try not to get afraid; I try to think that what will happen will happen and though we have to strive to get want we want to happen actually happen it's not going to happen if it wasn't meant to be. But I am terrified of what's going to happen. I actually don't think that this—the way Panem is today with the Hunger Games, the famine, the death—was meant to be.

The castle's depths hold every terror you can imagine. I've been going down the corridors all night because I was afraid to sleep, for if I do, mutts might kill me, or ceiling fans might fall, or the ceiling might collapse, or I may just never wakes up. I nickname the castle the Castle of Terror. It's like tracker jackers—it targets the fear part of your brain and makes you hallucinate and makes you be uncharacteristically scared, unless you're usually scared.

Want to know what else I've found out it does? It makes you be very overly optimistic and contemplate things too much. Maybe that part of my brain is associated with the fear part. I don't know how it would be, but I can't let it show. The Capitol wants all of us to be their perfect little playing pawns and that's what I must be. I must be their perfect piece if I am going to catch them off guard and use the teddy bear/rebel info coy that is strapped to my belt. I have to make them all happy.

Oh, God. I'm being optimistic and contemplating a lot again. I've got to get out of here.

There aren't many places to go. Except upstairs. But when I went out of my hiding place late last night, before all the horrible stuff happened, through the window I could see this faceless, blind, dark person as they moseyed through the empty grayness. I might have imagined it, but I think I could hear them screaming. Or _someone_/_something_ screaming. Maybe it was the tributes up there that they were torturing.

Oh, great, now I want to go _nowhere_. Not outside, where I'm super exposed, or down here, where I'm vulnerable to any and every attack, or up there, where terror awaits in everything. But down here is the Cornucopia, which is resourceful and may offer for some sort of hiding. Suddenly getting an idea, I put my arrow back and start to run towards the main, gigantic room in the castle.

Once I'm there, the first platform I see is the one that was mine. I stare at it for a second, knowing that there's a place down there where people aren't trying to kill me. Sure, it's the Capitol's house of horrors that they place us in each year before we go up here, but it's safer than up here, where every breath I take, every move I make, every moment I'm awake, people are out to kill me, hunting me down for their own survival, willing to kill me at all costs, since it's either my life is taken for them, or, ultimately, in the end, theirs.

I realize how content I am when I reach the golden horn that's bouncing with the soft glow from candlesticks and torches on the walls and everywhere. Maybe this place isn't like tracker jackers; maybe I'm just generally afraid of this—the arena, the Games, the imminent deaths, the people out to kill me… What twelve-year-old _wouldn't_ be afraid of this? For once I cut myself some slack and let myself fear what's to come and everything around me.

Just this once.

And then I dive into the delicacies surrounding me and the weapons and clothes and tents and shelter.

This might just be Hunger Games tribute heaven.

**_D6- 15- (Melanie/Aureliana Dove)_**

Being let out of the District Six part of the arena was bliss.

After that, all that awesome relief went down the drain. I, Melanie, freaked out and went and hid in a bush outside the castle, restraining sobbing. I took the knife that I don't know how I did, but I managed to sneak it into the arena in my bra. The knife that Dalton gave Aureliana, not me. I would've never accepted it. But I'm grateful he gave it to me and I managed to get it in here, because I can fight people larger than me, and I'm preparing myself for the worst to come out of that wall.

Shuffling feet and quiet whispering passes me, now, and heads to the castle. I curl up tighter in a ball, trying the best I possibly can to be silent in this brush. When I hear the footsteps stop and then just one pair of feet start to come to me, I almost quit breathing for a second because of how afraid I am. I expect Aureliana to come out any moment now and attack both the people. But she doesn't.

"What are you doing?" asks an older girl.

Then, the next voice comes from closer to be, and the voice is quieter younger. I shrink into the bush, trying to become so small that I disappear from this spot altogether. "Didn't you hear that? It's like some animal is in this bush," whispers the other voice cautiously, curiously. "But it's really thick and"—I hear her putting her hand in the leaves now and almost go berserk—"has got thorns." She pulls her hand back out.

"If it's got thorns, no one is in there, Artemis," explains the older girl. "Come on, let's go find someplace to sleep in the castle."

"No, someone is in there! Or something, at least, Addelynn," snaps the Artemis girl. "And I don't feel comfortable sleeping in there until the tribute or mutt is dead or in another section."

"It's probably just a bunny, okay?" The Addelynn girl sighs.

I can feel my other personality coming out right then, and try to choke her down, because I know she'll just get me killed. But I just end up involuntarily making a light squeaking, choking, almost croaking sound. And _that's_ precisely when everything starts tumbling downhill for the worse. And Melanie stays hidden under that bush as Aureliana tumbles out like a wildfire.

"See! You had to have heard that!" exclaims Artemis.

"Yeah, she did," I, Aureliana, growl from behind Artemis. "Now, how would you like this to play out? Give up now, or should I cut those pretty little ears off so you don't hear your screams as I brutally make it long and slow after the battle is over?"

**_D4- 17- (Blessia Fornbrex)_**

"Come _on_, Drakey! No one's here," I beg. "Please, let's just go."

"There's got to be something other than the endless miles of grass," he says. "So, we're sitting at this door until someone comes out."

"You idiot, no one's coming." Both of us turn and look at that idiot, Collette. Ever since she whipped that person today, Drake has been paying more attention to her. It's not fair. And… I don't even know how I looked as she killed that tribute. It was positively gross. All bloody and stuff, and now Drake maybe likes her because of it. Well, I'll just have to do what I am best at with guys. Tonight, when the other three incompetent losers are asleep, and Drake and I are in our tent, watching through the tent's window for people, I'll just have to give him a little… _fun_.

If you know what I mean.

**The tributes whose names are bold are alive:**

**D1- (Luxuries)**

Male- Kaiden Johnson 16. 22downwiththecapitol22

**Female- Hunter Blackthorne 17. Rikachan101**

**D2- (Masonry)**

**Male- Drake Flint 17. jblonde123**

**Female- Collette Finch 16. jblonde123**

**D3- (Technology)**

**Male- Andrew "Drew" Reox 16. CallingMeFakeWontMakeYouReal**

**Female- Myra De La Rosa 14. **CallingMeFakeWontMakeYouReal **(Since I'm leaving her condition secret, I'll only bold half of it.)**

**D4- (Fishing)**

**Male- Ryan Melly 12. Bowserboy129. **

**Female- Blessia Fornbrex 17. **

**D5- (Power) **

**Male- Sam Ryans 12. goldie031**

**Female- Miracle Rawlins 13. goldie031**

**D6- (Transportation)**

Male- Apollo Ephraim 14. Rikachan101

**Female- Melanie/Aureliana Dove 15. CapitolRules**

**D7- (Lumber)**

Male- Tasi Merkava 16. RockSolid

Female- Temari Hyuga 18. ladyyuuki16

**D8- (Textiles)**

Male- Colin Crowe 15. experiment15

Female- Sahra Lemo 14. Bowserboy129

**D9- (Grain)**

**Male- Gray Hager 18. Bowserboy129**

**Female- Artemis Nightheart 15. Rikachan101**

**D10- (Livestock)**

**Male- Maxmilian "Lion" Leone 18. CapitolRules**

**Female- Addelynn Demetriu 18. iJustMightBeCrazy**

**D11- (Agriculture)**

Male- Rogis Trakholm 17. blueyoshguy

**Female- Roslynn Ellis 17. experiment15**

**D12- (Mining)**

Male- Haver Grale 17. Bowserboy129

**Female- Chaste Christensen 12. Araka-chan**

**A/N:** Eight and a half tributes are dead (Myra is the half) and fifteen and a half are alive.

Anyway, I'm giving up on the poll thing, because I like just killing the random person, not having my readers on this website vote whoever I kill.

Now, reread that sentence as though you'd just overheard me talking to a friend at the table next to you at a pizza place. Wouldn't that be awkward?

Blessia will get a POV next chapter due to her short one this time. That or she'll be mentioned exceptionally much in the next chapter.

Anyway, review, all! Review! Do it for Krumr. Because for those of you who had read about him, you've got to admit: He was damn awesome!

Or Nick. Or Aria. Or Scotty. Or Midnight. Or Zander. Whoever floats your boat…


	20. Chapter 20: VictorWorthy

**A/N: I was going to do a regular chapter, but then I realized how long it'd been since I updated and decided to do a Gamemaker POV. The idea of the chapter (picking victor-worthy tributes) was thought of by Rikachan101 in her story. So the idea's hers, the chapter's mine, and The Hunger Games is Suzanne Collins's, m'kay?**

**Uber-late update, huh? I'm so sorry! And the worst part is—it's only going to get worse. This year at school, I don't think my teachers are going to be as awesomely laid-back with the amount of homework I had last year. So, if you ever think, _I wonder if she quit that story_… well—just don't. Because I _will_ finish IWNB. And I _will_ finish all my others, and that's serious.**

**But you see, I'm in two 24/24 fanfics. Super smart of me, right? I know. So now I got the strict boundaries of "Get your chapter in _on-time_ or bye-bye, Lila Callbrooke" for one of them. But it's really fun. I'd recommend joining one to anyone who had time and was willing to commit, because trust me. Think of how hard it sounds. I thought it'd be easy. So take easy, turn it into "needs lots of work and commitment but extraordinarily fun," and that's the category that writing those fics falls into.**

**Don't be afraid to read them either! Specifically "Blood Dreams" by _24 and 24_, m'kay? XD **

**And now, I will recommend you a few fanfics that are greatly good that I am _not_ apart of, but read and love. One: WriterFreak101's _More Than Just Pieces_, the story of the 30th Hunger Games, and it's not an SYOT (looky where I mention that statement lol). I think what the "official" term for that type of fanfic is a SSET? Submit Someone Else's Tribute?**

**I like SYOTs. But Writer's (that's his nickname over at Blood Dreams) story is great, and he's an award-winning author for his fantastic Mlimmer (Glimvel? …no good names for that couple XD) one-shot, and I hate that couple. But the one-shot is brilliant and actually made me like the couple for a second. And I, readers, am stu-bborn. **

**And two: Rikachan101's _Fear: The 100th Hunger Games._ And it's about rhinos taking over the planet. No, it's not, but if you're not sure what it's about, then… just go reread the Hunger Games. Right now. Nope, don't argue. Go. I said go! Uh-huh… walk away.**

**Now that _they're_ gone, this story is amazing, and… Mason for the win. End of story. XD So, check them both out right after you read this chapter and review, m'kay? **

**So now, on a less depressing note, the chapta! **

**Sorry for the long A/N, by the way. XD**

**_Capitol- 36- Head Gamemaker- (Marco Rambodini)_**

Sitting across from the president, I stiffen as she swivels around to me, her eyes evil and dark. She grins, but there is obvious anger on her face. Her narrowed eyes keep my heart pumping viciously and relentlessly, my mind reeling about everything that she could be about to say. And it all might end, right here, right now, today, after all I've done for the Games, her, the country, the districts. I've done flawlessly, and now she's just going… step on me? Great. Just great.

"Ma'am, I don't know what you think I—" I start.

"Sh-sh-sh, Marco," she says, halting me. "We both know that my grandfather just died last week, and my father died years and years ago. That means I'm the president now, correct?"

"Yes, but I don't know where you might be going with—"

"Don't question me." She taps her fingers on her desk and then rests her palms on it. I look up at her insanely tight blond ponytail. As I look back into her empty green eyes, she gets up and starts to pace between the window and the edge of her bookshelf. "So that means I would run the Games, right? Since I rule the country, and the Games are apart of the country?"

"I would assume so, and you do. But you are busy, so we Gamemakers help, more or less," I say.

"I understand and appreciate that. But I need someone who is thinking on a similar mindset as me," she explains. "So I need this to be organized. I need three victors presented to me in three hours. I need no rebelliousness. All rebellious tributes should be dead within two days. Lovers, too. You saw how that Scotty and her Nick were last year.

"_And_, should you fail to prove to be of a similar mindset as I, you will be executed."

My eyes widen. "Wh-… Huh? Why not just say I quit, or was fired?"

"Why would you quit such a marvelous job?" I shrug. "And this is turning out to be a perfect Games. Why would we fire you?" I shrug again. "You see, Head Gamemaker Marco Rambodini, the only thing that would be believable would be that you were sick and were hiding it, but suddenly just… died at work because of it. And that's actually when we'll execute you." Her tone is oddly soothing. "So, go, get to it, now!"

I nod and scramble out of the room and to my quarters, where the living tributes' files are laid out and their pictures are on my computer screen. "Three victors, three victors, three victors," I whisper.

First up, Hunter Blackthorne. Not too bad. But wounded. And not of the Capitol's favor. Had she not been wounded and therefore been able to kill more at the bloodbath—one of them, anyway—she would make the list.

Then Drake Flint. A definite possibility. He's vicious, he's deadly, but he's got a lover. I set his file aside with Hunter's.

Collette Finch. Now _here's_ a victor-worthy tribute! Vicious, deadly, in the Capitol's favor, and with no lover! She's on her way to stardom. I set her file up by my computer.

After going through districts and districts of non-victor-worthy tributes, I stop dead on Maxmilian Leone, or "Lion," or "Max." He's been a surprise to the Capitol. He's been facored and loved and he's killed. He's also been daring and vain towards the Careers, taking over when the lovers flock at each other. I set his file with Collette's.

Then I find the rest are not victor-worthy. _Oh, no,_ I think. _I'm going to die._

**A/N: I know, this is not my best chapter, but it's a quickly written chapter. The next real chapter will be up soon. **

**Collette and Lion are not my "choices for victor." I don't have any yet. They're just who I think a Gamemaker would choose.**

**Review! And check out Blood Dreams, More Than Just Pieces, and Fear!**


	21. Chapter 21: Help

**A/N: I tried to hit a bit more of some emotional-ish stuff in this chapter. **

**Prepare now if you like some certain characters. Can't tell you which. **

**Anyway, check out WriterFreak101! Seriously! Especially his 'More Than Just Pieces' story. Come onnnn! Do it for Finnick!**

**And check out Rikachan101 and, of course, CallingMeFakeWontMakeYouReal. All three have fantastic stories and are great authors.**

**Okay, speaking of Finnick, am I the only one who _cannot believe_ they offered the role to _Sam Claflin_? Don't _tell _me I am! *awkward head roll and finger shake XD* And Jena Malone for Johanna! Both are great actor/actresses, but not for this part. I mean, come on. I didn't love Catching Fire when I read it! (Okay, that's a lie. I so did. But it was my least-favorite of the series *stubborn*.) And now… just… Just…**

**CHECK OUT WRITERFREAK101'S MORE THAN JUST PIECES AND ALL OF HIS WORK, EVERYTHING FROM CALLINGMEFAKEWONTMAKEYOUREAL, AND EVERYTHING FROM RIKACHAN101 AND _BLOOD DREAMS BY 24 AND 24!_**

* * *

_"And the worst part is, before it gets any better, we're... headed for a cliff,_

_And in the freefall I... will realize I'm better off when I hit the bottom,  
_

_The tragedy - it seems unending,  
_

_I'm watching everyone I looked up to breaking bending,  
_

_We're taking shortcuts, and false solutions, just to come out... the hero,  
_

_Well, I can see behind the curtain,  
_

_The wheels are cranking, turning - it's all wrong the way we're working towards a goal that's nonexistent,  
_

_It's nonexistent! But we just keep believing.  
_

_And the worst part is, before it gets any better we're headed for a cliff..."  
_

_-Turn it Off, by Paramore_

* * *

**Title: Help**

**Day Two and Three? **

**Meaning some POVs are one Two, some Three. Everything before Blessia's is Two, and Blessia's down is Three.**

**_D3- 16- (Drew Reox)_**

_She's dying. _That's all that goes through my head. _She's dying. Idiot! Grab. Her. Hand!_

It is seconds later that I have both hands grasping her fingers very hard, but I don't care. I carefully lower my grip until I have a firm grasp on her and yank, _yank_, _YANK!_ But I'm so… stiff. It's like my muscles are… shutting down. Before they can, I work up all my muscle and pull, with all my might. The pain of shutting increasingly slowly down makes is in the back of my mind. But then… slowly… in the… front. _Oh, no, I'm gonna black out. Hurry up, Drew! DRAG HER UP!_

And then I do. I do. My arms hurt in the end. They ache with a fury. My torso and stomach muscles are in pain. I have a headache. I think I'm going to barf up acid. And it starts to rain. But… there's no rain. Just lots and lots of thunder that would block out Myra's cannon. I look to my side and see a dart in my shoulder, and a… ninja-like person with a dart gun in their hand—only, it's not a tribute. It's a… mutt.

When I wake up, I realize I was unaware I'd drifted off, and then I remember Myra and sit straight up. The ice we sit on is now black and a regular ground temperature. I hadn't heard her cannon, and I wasn't far enough away for them to pick up the body. Myra De La Rosa—dead. Myra. Mrs. De La Rosa's daughter. Makena's friend's big sister. That girl I barely knew.

How had I never seen her awesomeness, her beauty, her perfectness? The way she matched me like worn-in boots? The way it's easy for me to melt when she smiled? How hadn't I seen that her eyes were the best things in the world to look at? Why couldn't I understand that we were perfect other halves?

No. It is unacceptable.

"Myra!" I yell, any sense of staying hidden gone. "_Myra__!_"

She looks so gorgeous when she's sleeping. Only, is she really sleeping?

"No," I whisper. "NO. NO, NO, _NO!_" I let out an angry whisper, and then I stand up and look down in the flames of the pit. Did they…? Was she…?

I whip around and see her feet, scarred and black and burnt and bloody. All the way up to her mid-calves. My mind reels. Even if she is alive, this damage… I can't fix it. She's a goner for sure. I just hope that she doesn't know that when she wakes up, because _she will wake up._ She will. I may not get into emotion, I may be the carefree Drew, but _she isn't dead_, and _that_ _is THAT._

I'm not leaving her side until she wakes up or I die. I'll take her with me everywhere. Even if that means dragging a dead body around the arena. But I won't be. Because I'll be carrying Myra De La Rosa, the victor of the One-Hundred-Fifty-First Hunger Games.

**_D9- 15- (Artemis Nightheart)_**

"Now, how would you like this to play out? Give up now, or should I cut those pretty little ears off so you don't hear your screams as I brutally make it long and slow after the battle is over?"

What does Addelynn do? Load her bow. What do I do? Black out.

It's a short blackout, in which I wake up maybe sixty seconds later, maybe five minutes later. Either way, I'm in a bush and Addelynn's frantically saying, "Anytime now, Arty! Anytime!"

I hear an arrow leave its place on a bow and slither my way out of the bush. I take my knife and prepare to try and take on this vicious girl. I'm okay with knife-throwing, gun shooting. Anything with a weapon that's not too big. And this girl looks kind of small. I think I'm okay. So I try to sneak around behind the girl to shove a knife in her heart. I stand up slowly, hopefully sneakily, slyly…

…when I hear, "Artemis, _watch out!_" And the next thing I know, I'm clutching my forehead after a failed attempt at dodging the girl lodging a knife down my throat. At least I missed _that_. She yanks her knife out of me, which hurts so bad that it almost burns. The warm, crimson blood trickles down past my eyes, narrowly avoiding blurring my vision at first, but then succeeding to do that, and tickling my lips. And my head _kills._ What with the headaches I get and the newly earned, excruciatingly sickening pain, it's overwhelmingly up there with my skull and my brain.

"I assume you'd like it the hard way," the girl hisses. "_Artemis._" I purse my lips. If I had any strength left, I'd lunge up and kills her. "Let's get started, shall we?"

"Addelynn!" I screech, and that's when I hear the moan. She hurt Addie—as I'll now call her, or maybe just Add… I like Add—too. Rage. That's what I feel. "How did you hurt her?"

"Arty, I'm… fine," mocks this girl as she traces a little pocketknife that I wouldn't think they'd put in the arena around my eyes. "She just… got my… stomach." An evil grin appears on this girl's face, and I refuse to look away, though I must seem terrified. No less, it's better than chickening out and looking away. "I… might live. I probably _won't._" The corners of her mouth turn up more.

"You sick, sick person," I hiss. And then I can't help but stupidly whisper, "Why? Why're you doing this for them?"

"It's not for 'them'. It's never for 'them'," she snarls. "It's for _me_."

I sometimes—_sometimes_—have hallucination after I have a blackout, but it's really rare. I'm guessing this is one of those times, and I'm about to black out again. Because what I see is fright entering her eyes. The girl backs up and starts to scramble away. I manage to sit up, but it makes my head spin and ache more. She shakes her head, over and over again, completely different from seconds ago.

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry," she says, disgust and terror in her voice. "So sorry. Don't kill me. Please, please, please, don't kill me. Just this once, please don't kill me." I think I might see tears in her eyes.

"I couldn't if I tried!" I get out, but I do kind of feel bad for her, though she looks older than me and just tried to murder me. "_Just this once_, and only because I _can't._"

"Thank you!" she exclaims, and runs sheepishly away.

I crawl over to Add, though it's hard. So hard. I think about abandoning her, getting to safeness, away from this exposed place, where the Careers could pop out of nowhere and kill me in a split second, without hesitation. But then I think otherwise, because no matter what, I don't think Add would do that; I think she'd at least _try_ to _drag_ me to somewhere relatively safe.

"Add. Hey, Add." I poke her face. She groans. I look down to her side where she has her bloody hands. "Oh, my God, Add! It's my entire fault because I blacked out!"

"Uhnnnnn," she groans. I groan, too, because my head is literally killing me. "Arta- Arty- Atrem- Artemis," she croaks. "Get us… out of… here…. Now!" She smiles. "It hurts. Way bad. Very, very bad. But I'll be fine if you just _get us out of here._"

I nod. "So you're going to be fine?"

Add rolls her eyes. "Duh. I think I can walk, but you'd be damned if you think I could do it soundlessly."

"I know. I'll help," I suggest.

She nods. Then I prepare for a painful journey to the castle for both of us. And we're, oh, five feet away? Thanks, mysterious girl. Don't you just love insane strangers who try to kills you mercilessly and viciously, and then start to run away, begging for mercy for themselves, out of the blue, after horribly, horribly wounding you and your friend that you might have to later kill? Yeah, me too.

**_D4- 17- (Blessia Fornbrex)_**

Last night, I got nothing _done_ with Drake. And we're stuck in the most boring place _ever_! There is _nothing _to do, and Drakey won't even talk to me. He just sits by me and looks at the door a lot, willing it to open. He doesn't hold my hand, or sit _close_ to me. Not close enough to get him… enticed. I just need him alone and close. Alone and close. Then I'll be satisfied.

"Drake," I whisper in a singsong voice. I scoot closer and pick up his hand, rubbing it. He closes his eyes. His jaw muscles, like, do something. I have no clue how to describe it. I lean into him and lay my chin on his shoulder gently, humming a tune. It's like I'm a mermaid from those stories and movies and TV shows all on TV or in books and fairytales, and I'm drawing the men closer, closer, closer. Or like a femme fatale! That's so cool. Except, I'm not going to _hurt_ Drake. I roll my eyes at the thought.

"It's so boooring in here," I complain seductively. I bring his hand up to my lips and say, "Let's go in the tent, what do you say?"

He nods weakly.

Checkmate.

**_D9- 18- (Gray Hager)_**

Moans. It's all we heard as we tried to escape. From what, we're not sure. They weren't human, that's for sure. But they were very close. Some inhumanly human mutt? It was sickening and that's all I know. No, wait, I know we're out, too, and I could not be the least bit more grateful to that and that only right now. Well, I'm grateful I'm alive, and kind of that Ryan is too.

"We're out! We're out of the Death Room!" he sings in a quiet, horrible voice, and I smile. "Aren't you glad? Why didn't I think to shoot him? Why couldn't we speak? I'll admit—I was pretty afraid when I got out before you did and I was all alone." Then he starts to sing randomly again: "Out of the Death Room! Out! Out! Out! Everything's bright, no moans heard!" in a deep voice.

I'll admit something, too: That "Death Room" was pretty scarring admittedly. I mean, we were stuck in endless fog for almost a whole day, and the only thing we heard was moaning, groaning, sobbing, distant screaming that may or may not have been our imagination. There was no sleep. At night we were propelled to keep walking because of the thought that whatever that moans came from would kills us brutally. My heart never stopped thumping, thumping, thumping, you know? I could hardly breathe, neither of us could, for fear that if we showed any difference from the things that they'd come and find us, _somehow_, and _kill us_. There were so many thoughts about them killing us. There is no_ doubt_ that we'll both have nightmares about that for the rest of our lives—however long they may be.

"Hey, Ryan, let's look around," I suggest. "You know, to get a_way_ from the room of doom."

He nods vigorously. I nod once and then sit up from my spot on the floor in the first room you see after walking out of Fog Mania Room, Now with Extra Zombies. Once I leave the room, I feel better and better, because the farther away from that awful room I am, the less chance I have of them killing me. _That_ would be my worst nightmare, absolutely. Actually, it will be a nightmare, a real _nightmare_—as in, nighttime hallucination—soon.

I don't think anyone else is in the castle. The doors are pretty loud if you're not careful; Ryan and I learned that the hard away. And unless someone's just being really cautious about that and all, this place is dead empty. Or maybe they might've come during the time we were trapped in the worst part of this house of horrors. But I doubt it. The fact that we were also moaning—so we could blend in—added an extra layer of humanness to the noises, most likely scaring off a lot of the paranoid tributes. And those who are paranoid didn't go into the doors for fear of what they held; no, they stayed back here.

Like Ryan and I.

I'm getting pretty attached to this kid. I know that's bad, but it's not as bad as it would be if he were capable of surviving. Then I'd have to kill him. But this way, I can have some company for a while. Eventually we'll get in a battle and he won't make it, and that'll benefit me. The anger I feel because of his death will make me want revenge, making me deadlier, harder to kill, less likely to chicken out, and my viciousness because I need revenge will give me sponsors. Really, knowing this kid will really help me. It's like people who have a lot of money invested are to their relatives—they're more valuable to other people dead than alive, like this kid is to me. It's sick, sure, but that's the Games. And at least I really do care for the kid. At least I'm not _forcing_ myself to care for him. Then it wouldn't even be real. This way, the kid's safe, he's got food, shelter, a buddy—his last days will be a heck of a lot better than if we had never gotten lucky and hit the bulls-eye.

I still say it was beginner's luck.

"Sam." That's what I hear. I pull out my knife. "Sam, do you hear someone?"

"Mirrrrrr… Don't scare me!" says another voice.

"Sorry, sorry, I'm probably wrong. I'll inch out with my bow real quick, just to make sure," says the first voice, a young female's.

I nod over to the frightened, pointing to his gun. I take out my hand axe slowly and quietly, telling myself, _We're all good, we're all good. This kid's got to be small…_

The girl—Mirr, Meer, Mir?—steps out from a doorway, attaching an arrow to her bow. Then when she sees us, her eyes go wide in terror. She didn't think we'd be out here. I thought she was trying to keep her ally calm. She really did think it was just a mistake. Can I kill an unprepared, scared, little child? Look at me saying this right after I just thought of how Ryan is worth more dead to me than alive.

_She's armed, Gray, not completely defenseless,_ my uncaring subconscious tells me.

_B-but she's paralyzed! I… I have to do it, though, don't I?_ I shake my head and prepare to throw. No taunting—of course not—no suffering—of course not—just one quick blow to the head—something that'll kill her immediately. Mercifully. _Yeah, an axe to the head. _That_ is merciful. What a kind soul you are, Gray Hager. _

But before I can, Ryan's shooting.

"MIR!" I hear the little boy she allied with scream. He lunges from his perch that was hidden from my view and tackles her to the ground. The bullet nicks his side. He screeches. "Mir! Mir! Mir!"

"I'm _trying_, Sam!" she hisses, but it's too late. For them, it's now or never. Because I throw my axe and Ryan shoots.

Since Ryan was farther away from the two, the bullet and the axe hit at about the same time. It hits the boy, "Sam." And then all I can hear is a deafening scream from both of the little kids. As the girl notches the arrow to the bow, she is screaming his name like it's all she knows. It almost breaks my heart. Almost. Because their death… is my life.

"SAM!"

_Bwum!_

_BOOM!_

That's the three noises I hear: Sam, _bwum_, _boom_.

The meanings: A little girl losing her best friend, the arrow leaving its home on a bowstring, and I cannon.

"Ryan, Ryan, Ryan!" I call out, running to my ally's side. "Ryan, wake up, buddy! Wake up…! _Get up, kid!_"

"Oh, my God, Sam, was that cannon yours? Please no, please no, please no," cries the girl across the hall. We're oblivious to each other as we both try and get our allies to show signs of life _somehow_. Even if it's just a groan of excruciating pain. I yank the arrow out of Ryan's heart as I hear a loud "Ewwww" as the Mir girl pulls out my axe.

_Maybe it was the other kid. I mean, he had a _bullet_ in his heart, and Ryan_ just_ got shot, seconds ago,_ I tell myself. But I know he's going to die unless there's some miracle cream back in the Capitol. Well, there is. How else do the damaged victors get repaired in a matter of days? But I don't have that many sponsors. _No way_ is that possible. And we'd need something even _stronger _and more expensive.

"Get the hell up, bud!" I demand, and slap his face. He moans. "_Yes!_ Okay, come on, got to get you somewhere safer than this battlefield.

The girl down the hall sobs. I feel sorry for her. No matter how cruel this sounds, I mean it in the best way it can be said: I'll end his misery soon. I don't think she'd want to go home without him—her ally—anyway. They seem like they have huge history. So I grab Ryan's knife and go up to the girl. The boy, bloody and grotesquely wounded—not as horrible as some cases in the Hunger Games history—is laying there, motionless, eyes closed, unseeing to the sad event that he must've died wishing not to happen. I almost can't kill the girl.

But I have to.

A stab in the back. One simple, swift motion. But first I whisper, "I'm sorry. I mean that. I'm sorry."

I've found perspective, and I realize that maybe I'm a killer, maybe I deserve to die because of all I've done, but I've found something in me. And I couldn't be more sorry and ashamed of all I had to do to figure that out. It's a terrible thing, these Games are. And though all of us who go through it slowly lost not only our sanity but what little slivers of pureness and innocence we all have.

It's stupid, yeah, but at least I'm not looking forward to feeling the next victim's blood seep through my fingers.

I start down the hall, toward Ryan's door. And I see him heave a breath. I know he's dying. I don't know what to do. So I just simply say, "I'm so sorry about all of this, kid. But hey, lucky shot way back there, huh? I'm, uh, glad that you made that shot." And I think he tries to smile. He tries. And then I walk down the hall, not crying, holding my head high, and feeling like a sick, deadly, evil person for ever thinking Ryan was worth more to me dead than alive. Because no one is.

And soon, two cannons have sounded, and I feel so, so, _so_ alone.

**A/N: I UPDATED EARLY! YAY!**

**Ha, you all still don't know if Myra's alive! HA! Heh, don't worry; you'll know soon.**

**Okay, does _anyone_ watch freaking Hollywood Heights? I know _zilch_ people who do, and I'm dying to talk about it with someone. So if you are too, feel free to PM the heck out of me! **

**Now, the alive and dead list:**

**The tributes whose names are bold are alive:**

**D1- (Luxuries)**

Male- Kaiden Johnson 16. 22downwiththecapitol22

**Female- Hunter Blackthorne 17. Rikachan101**

**D2- (Masonry)**

**Male- Drake Flint 17. jblonde123**

**Female- Collette Finch 16. jblonde123**

**D3- (Technology)**

**Male- Andrew "Drew" Reox 16. CallingMeFakeWontMakeYouReal**

**Female- Myra De La Rosa 14. **CallingMeFakeWontMakeYouReal **(Since I'm leaving her condition secret, I'll only bold half of it. Ha-ha. Still hangin', peeps. XD)**

**D4- (Fishing)**

Male- Ryan Melly 12. Bowserboy129.

**Female- Blessia Fornbrex 17. **

**D5- (Power) **

Male- Sam Ryans 12. goldie031

Female- Miracle Rawlins 13. goldie031

**D6- (Transportation)**

Male- Apollo Ephraim 14. Rikachan101

**Female- Melanie/Aureliana Dove 15. CapitolRules**

**D7- (Lumber)**

Male- Tasi Merkava 16. RockSolid

Female- Temari Hyuga 18. ladyyuuki16

**D8- (Textiles)**

Male- Colin Crowe 15. experiment15

Female- Sahra Lemo 14. Bowserboy129

**D9- (Grain)**

**Male- Gray Hager 18. Bowserboy129**

**Female- Artemis Nightheart 15. Rikachan101**

**D10- (Livestock)**

**Male- Maxmilian "Lion" Leone 18. CapitolRules**

**Female- Addelynn Demetriu 18. iJustMightBeCrazy**

**D11- (Agriculture)**

Male- Rogis Trakholm 17. blueyoshguy

**Female- Roslynn Ellis 17. experiment15**

**D12- (Mining)**

Male- Haver Grale 17. Bowserboy129

**Female- Chaste Christensen 12. Araka-chan**

**That is 12 ½ out of 24! They are going _quick_! **

**Sorry if I killed your character. It had to be done. I mean, there is only one victor, right?**

**So seriously, check all those people at the top that I recommended out. Right now. After you drop a review, go read their stories and drop a review. Okay? Alright. *nods***


	22. Chapter 22: Escape

**_ATTENTION, ATTENTION, ATTENTION, ALL SUBMITTERS!:_**** There _will_ be a sequel. You can PM me tributes now using the form on my profile. I might call the sequel "We're All Going to Die," but I am open to suggestions. Those of you with lost tributes from Don't Forget Us (Capitol Rules, I really miss Krumr… XD), feel free to resend some of your tributes! And there's going to be a twist. More info on my profile under the tribute form.**

**POVs: Hunter, Roslynn, Chaste, and Lion/Max/Maxmilian… whatever you wanna call him. XD**

**A/N: So, HEY! My school starts soon, and you know what that means, right? Yep. The world of education deprives all of you of entertainment and me of writing time. Therefore, because of their cruel minds and senseless homework, I will not being updating as much (and from recently… that's not saying much…). **

**Okay, just kidding. I like school… sometimes. Just not thrilled that I won't get as much writing time. XD**

**I'm going to set a day to try and update, and most of the time I'll update on that day. Let's say, for this story, I'll update every Saturday once August 16th comes. Until then, I will update as much as possible… but there isn't a lot of time until then anyway… So, Saturday is your new favorite day!**

* * *

_The dog days are over, the dog days are done,_**  
**

_The horses are comin', so you better run,  
_

_Run fast for you mother  
_

_Run fast for father,  
_

_Run for your children, for your sisters and brothers,  
_

_Leave all your loving and your longing behind; you can't carry it with you if you want to survive,  
_

_The dog days are over, the dog days are done,  
_

_Can you hear the horses? 'Cause here they come!  
_

_-Dog Days Are Over my Florence and the Machine_

* * *

**_D1- 17- (Hunter Blackthorne) – Day Three_**

I close my eyes, breathing in and out deeply, tired of Collette and Max fighting, and tired of Blessia and Drake with their fake romance, kissing and making annoying comments in the tent. I want to get away from the Careers as soon as possible. I want to kill them as soon as possible. And my first to be killed will be Drake. He is the second-most egotistical, the second-most annoying, and the first-most unfocused Career _ever._ It would be Blessia, but I have no doubt she won't need my help in dying.

I sift through my pack for something to eat. I've just picked out a soup—my last thermos-full, since we only packed for a one-day trip—when an "Mm, Drake…" erupts from the tent, and I suddenly lose appetite. Max pretends to gag from over by his tent. I roll my eyes but crack a smile, because it's just what I might've done had I been around friends. I don't mean for anyone to see my smile—it wouldn't be part of my Career image—but he does and smirks.

"Hmm, like what you see, Hunter?" he calls across Collette, and this time it's her that pretends to gag, as I smile, making it look genuine.

"Oh, yes, I do," I tell him in a singsong voice. "In _fact_—"

"Stop! Before I barf up the crumb I ate for breakfast!" Collette interrupts irritably.

I smile a different, near-smirk smile. "I wouldn't have gone on. You think I actually like _you_, Max?"

"Ah, no," he admits with a lasting smirk. He shakes his head and stands up, starting to walk around. We all kind of need to do that. We haven't had much exercise lately. "And, Hunter Blackshrub"—I set my jaw—"I'd like to _not_ be called Maxmilian, Max, or anything derived from that nature. Except _Lion_."

"Roar," I mutter bitterly, and Max starts to sprint off.

Another round of purely disgusting comments comes from Blessia and Drake's tent. I groan and start to sprint off, too, in the other direction from Max, and call back to Collette that I'm searching to see if there is a hill somewhere way in the distance or something. By 'or something,' I mean if the endless vastness is an illusion. Though I doubt it; the never-ending miles of grass is all visible to me. You could see if someone or something were in here if you were blind. And we have no idea how to get out.

It sucks. I think we might just all go insane if the door doesn't open soon. And _I don't get it._ The Capitol loves Careers. Why keep them stocked up in a giant room forever? It'll only dampen their reviews and what the Capitolians think of these Games! It's the idea of a mediocre Gamemaker at best, and the biggest imbecile of all time at a few notches below the best.

Look what it's doing to me! It's even got me thinking like a psycho Capitol citizen. I sigh as I jog along, frustrated.

Then I hear screaming behind me and stop in my tracks, panting a little. _Oh, no. The Pack is dying already._

**_D11- 17- (Roslynn Ellis) – Day Three_**

I'm dying.

I've made it to the woods. But the thirst is still so real, so vivid and makes my throat burn. I've gotten one canteen the size of my fist from sponsors, and I thought there was more in the basket they sent, so I drank it all at once. That's all I've had in three days. My lips are chapped and my head is slowly getting so much fuzzier. I'm dehydrating, and really slow, which will be excruciating when I finally give in to death.

"Ple—" I get out, and then stop, feeling how sandpaper dry and rough my tongue is. If I keep my mouth shut, maybe I can preserve the little bit of moisture inside me.

I'm hoping for it to rain soon, and rain like there's no tomorrow. That would be awesome. Because without that rain, there might not be a tomorrow—for me, that is. It has to rain.

I wonder if someone else is going through something similar. If they are, I hope it's someone capable of helping themselves if something comes along—someone older, with a larger attention span and therefore with more knowledge still in their brains about the survival skills in training. As much as I want to win, the soft spot for the youngest tributes will always be there.

I don't know what to do. I can't just sit here and wait to die. I have to do _something_. My mind is spinning, revolving around nothing and everything. I don't even think I'd notice if water drifted magically from the sky and gave me a black eye. I would still be sitting here, slowly getting lost and worse, totally unfixable, dead for sure. At least I know that through my fazes sta—

_Thump!_

I take that back. I would notice.

The basket lands on the top of my head, and after its emptiness hits my head, I realize it is upside-down; a water bottle then falls on my eyes as I look up for what was in the basket, answering my question: _What was in the basket?_ I scoot back and then look up, holding the water in disbelief to my hurt eye, and see three more bottles stuck in leaves and sticks and branches, bouncing down inch by inch. They go _thump, thump, thump!_ on the ground, one by one. After they've all fallen, I practically pounce on them, drinking the one that I had on my eye so fast that I get a brain freeze from the icy water and shove my tongue to the top of my mouth like my mother taught me before she died.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," I say, wincing from my brain freeze, and then realize I am probably on camera and most likely look stupid. So I mutter, "Brain freeeeeeze…"

I sigh and sit down, my back facing resting on a tree's bark, now just taking tiny sips of water occasionally, extremely afraid that I might run out of water before I find a source back here. Inside my head as I relax, I'm thanking my sponsors and my mentor so much that the sound of "Thank you. So, _so_ much!" in my head is starting to lose its meaning to me, just a bundle of nonsense words without meaning.

But it's okay. It's fine. It is completely all right. Because I'm alive. I am so blissfully, entirely, wholly alive, and that's how I think it will stay.

**_D10- 18- (Maxmilian Leone) – Day Three _**

I grab up all my stuff frantically, going as fast as I can, working hard to get away from this—all of the insanity and awful, awful… My mind doesn't seem to be working in full sentences as I pack, my stuff sprawled across the grass because I thought we'd be like before for a while: "peacefully" stuck in this place until _who knows when_, but we're not; all of that is changing and for good. No more gagging and messing with the untainted girls; no more sitting around, staring off into the distance, so bored; and no more hunger killing my stomach. It's all going to change, thank God, and it's never going back to _this_.

We're not splitting up; we're getting out of this hellhole of a section of the arena.

"Hunter, Hunter, Hunter!" Collette chants quickly, repeating her name over and over. None of us are stupid—we know that the door could close any second now, and our chance to stay sane and get some kills closing with it. The kills are going quick, and we all need as many as we can get to stay ourselves, but if we don't get out of here, soon we're all going to be so crazed and starved that I predict we'd resort to cannibalism without even realizing what we would be doing; we'd just insanely, mindlessly, look for food and something to do.

I don't care about waiting for Drake to pack his tent, for Collette to stop staring at him and pack her few things that she got out of her pack, for Hunter to get back. I dive out of the drack in the door that is just big enough for me to crawl out of if I don't wear my pack. When I'm out, I sigh with relief, feeling a cool breeze hit my cheeks, realizing how hot it was in that section. I sit down and look at the castle, the drawbridge, the heavenly murky pit under the drawbridge, the gravel surrounding the castle, the open doors of all the sections.

Anything that's differentiating from the norm of that section is bliss.

I let the adrenaline and glee rush subside and then feel that ache in my stomach, begging for food, needing something other than warm water to drink. I see Blessia's pack shoot from the crack of the rising door and watch as she slithers from under. Then the door raises a little, and the tent packs slide under, followed by a quick-moving Drake. Hunter and Collette go out together, their supplies nearly getting stuck, and that's when I realize the door is closing.

_Oh, well,_ I think. _Annoying burdens they were. _I look over at Drake and Blessia. _Yep. Time to go alone._ I start to head away from them, ready to sprint to the Cornucopia for weapons. If we're splitting up, I'm going to have to fight to claim rights to having the castle—and, more importantly, the Cornucopia—my territory. I set my feet and then start to set off, but feel a hand unexpectedly yank me back by the back of my shirt. I draw my sword.

He says something, small and quiet. "Help." It was an order. Anyone could tell from his voice. But I also heard pleading.

When I shake my head, he points to me, looking at Blessia, and then runs over to the wall. I watch the whole time. Their arms and heads thrown out of the closing wall as Drake threw himself under the wall, too. Attempting suicide for them? Hoping the Capitol won't want to kill the Careers? Either way, it doesn't matter. The only Career the Capitol needs is me, so as Drake, screams, "Collette, go back! I'll be waiting here for you. Please, just go back!" I throw myself on top of Blessia, ready to kill her.

"Dra—ahhhh!" I think the wall might have crushed them. I decide to look over. It hasn't crushed them, and Drake isn't wedged in the wall anymore. I see that Hunter has given up, too, and so has Collette. No one is wedged in anymore, but Drake is sitting there, his fingers in the little part where the door never closed down to, his face strained as he wills the door to raise. And then it does, smacking him in the face—somehow.

He starts to maniacally laugh, his nose bloody, and I take this as my cue to get off of Blessia and leave the scene and the Careers. For good.

But before I do, I decide to take a little something with me, dragging it.

Or, should I day, dragging her as she kicks and screams, as Hunter vomits, as Collette dazedly looks down at the boy hugging her, as Drake looks up at Collette, a look in his eyes that I gave Emma every time I was about to kiss her, my dead giveaway.

I feel down into my pocket to the bracelet. Then I smile an evil, deadly grin that's always at the end of the cheesy Capitol movies that always have sequels, right before the screen goes black, and I'm sure the screens across the country are zooming in on my grin, right before they all go black.

**_D12- 12- (Chaste Christensen) – Day Three_**

My heaven of a life in the arena lasted about five seconds.

I hear shouts, whoops, and then begs. It's so weird. As I hear the shouts, I immediately think: _No, no, no, the Careers have found me,_ and burrow deeper into my hiding spot in the Cornucopia. Then, after hearing the whoops, I think, _No, they've killed someone else. They'll move on._ And with the begging, I realize that it's one of the Careers. I can just hear a pleading tone, but I can't make out the specific words he or she is saying.

Panic courses through me. I start to shake, my fingers trembling and my body making the pack of who knows what right next to me shake. I've always been one to go with the flow and believe that everything happens for a reason, but anyone would be terrified right before their death, right? I curl up into a ball, my head lodged between my legs painfully, hoping I'm not killed. I can't be killed. I have to win. For the Rebellion.

"Hmm, I guess you're gonna die, huh?"

The voice makes me jump; I'm taken me out of the position I was in. I feel a shiver run up my body as I realize it: This is the end. I'm going to die. And there's nothing to do about it. I'm going to die, clutching a teddy bear, curled up in a ball, quaking with fear. I hang my head low in disgust because of my behavior. I need to accept things as they are, and, more importantly, fight to make them go my way. So I sit up, hold my head up high, and get ready to stand up and shoot until there are none left in the arena.

I will not go down without a fight. I will not sit here as the Capitol waits for me to die, cheering my killer on, wanting, loving, cherishing the blood they want to flow out of me. As Artemis Nightheart once said, I will not bow.

"_Huh_, Blessia?"

_Blessia? Wait, _what_?_ I think. _That guy—he's not out to kill _me_? I'm safe? He might not kill me?_

I shoot down, burrowing up again, making a plan of escape. I think at the teddy bear, _You wouldn't happen to have something for this, would you?_ And then I crack a light smile. _Of course not._ This sudden burst of courage because I actually might not be killed suits me. I start to devise a plan, staring at the bear, wondering if I can actually make it. I might be able to. I peek at the scene and see the victim being choked and the killer teasing her before he gives the final blow.

Should that be the only people near, I could make it.

But, of course, it's not.

Three more tributes—Careers—stand at the doorway of the castle watching almost in… awe?... at the scene. One boy steps up to stop it, but the killer gives him a look with such feral evilness that promises death to anyone who interferes that even I can see and would stop the strongest of men cold in their tracks. This boy that's killing the girl from… maybe Four—he's not to get even close to. I make that mental note, the vicious glint in his eye permanently zapped into the back of my mind so I can never stop seeing it.

Making a dash and getting lucky? Not exactly smart, as the three other Careers would not hesitate to take me down. That's out, unless they all get distracted. Shooting them? Well, it could work if I am quick enough. But it's a last resort option, since one fluke could end in my death. But I don't have a lot more options. I rack my mind. Stay here and burrow down, wait till they sleep? No. Too-too risky. But…I don't want to shoot them. What if the only option is to just wait to die?

_Mom, Dad, please, help me out here…_ I pray inside my head, and then curl up and really pray to the Lord that He'll give me a chance to run, to get free. I just need one chance if my fate isn't to die. Or maybe I can change my fate. I don't know if it's something you can just believe in or what, but I don't care. I ball myself up, ready to spring and shoot, and then remember that I actually have to ready my bow, all the while still thinking of my parents and fate.

I have to get out of here. I can't shoot them.

My heart pumping, my mind racing, ready to stand up, I hear the most fateful words of a lifetime: "Go on. I'll be right out. Lion, stop. _Stop_—_now_. Stop it! She's a Career too!"

"She's a burden," the person who must be Lion says. His voice is rough and harsh and completely matches the deadly look in his eyes that he felt earlier, his face a hardened stone mask of hate and the need to kill. I peek through a little hole in the supplies and watch the scene. The Lion guy _ties_ the girl from Four to the wall, and then he points his sword at the other guy, putting the tip on his raised chin. "Listen, Drake, she needs to go. You need no distractions. And this'll be the final moment of your reign, your rule. _I _am the leader of the Careers, and this will prove it to all of you. Got me?"

The other boy—Drake, I guess—nods feebly. He knows this other guy is dangerous.

Then he lunges, drawing his own sword. Both of them are emerged into a sudden fight, the other Careers are nowhere near seeing, and the girl tied to the wall is whimpering and in a trance, watching the fight. _This is your chance,_ I think. _Go for it_.

And I do.

The best part is that the door to the stairs was so much closer than I thought, and I easily make it to it without anyone seeing me.

I'm safe today.

**A/N: Yay! I thought it might be a few more days before I updated but then it was all… there! So, review, and freaking SUBMIT to the sequel of this! Like I said, I might call it, "We're All Going to Die." Nice name, right? I need suggestions…**

**Anyway, I look forward to Saturday!**


	23. Chapter 23: The Young and the Deadly

**A/N: I know it's not Saturday, but I had this done and wanted to publish it. It's not a real chapter-like chapter. It's the president's POV. I didn't have inspiration for a regular chapter, but I did for this. It explains some stuff about the sequel. Enjoy and review!  
**

**_Capitol- 22- President- 3_****_rd_****_ person POV- (Attica Jacobson)_**

The president of Panem sits at her desk, sifting through emails and emails from the rebellion control teams across the country. A new one pops up as she hits her inbox. She sighs and clicks on it, nearly screaming in anger that the spies for the Capitol hidden among the Peacekeepers had so much irrelevant information stocked within a pile of little relevant info.

_Miss President, _the email says. _It's hit District Six now. It's spreading to not only one stupid district along the outlines, but now into a catastrophic wildfire. We've reached only half of District Five citizen's at this point. There isn't a lot of time left, Miss Jacobson. If the next Games don't come soon and brutal, a war might strike up, and, with all due respect, you could lose office, in the worst of cases. _

_—RCTM Michael Corr. _

Attica sighs, trashing the email. _More irrelevance, _she thinks, and rolls her eyes. She takes out her secret notepad and starts to draw. She draws knives, swords, blood against snow. She has always loved to draw, ever since she was little. She had wanted to be an artist when she was six. Now she smirks at the thought and continues to draw her masterful work. She could have been the greatest of the Panem era had she not become the president.

A knock on the president's door makes her shove the notepad into her desk and slam the drawer. "Come in," she calls as she exits out of her email inbox, into the blank screensaver. Then she turns around and faces her Head Gamemaker, Marco Rambodini. "Oh. You. Have you made your decision, or shall I plan your execution?" Her words about his execution is an act, though she'd never let that on. He is a fine Head Gamemaker.

"Miss Jacobson," he says, addressing Attica formally. She smiles, motioning for him to sit. He does. "I have, miss."

Attica, growing impatient, demands, "And they are?"

Marco takes a deep breath, noticeably rubbing his hands on his formal pants. Attica holds back the urge to roll her eyes, though it is hard. She is, after all, still just a young adult, still exploring the world of having responsibilities and taking control of her life—and all of Panem. It is stressful for her all the time, but she manages to keep going, driven by the pride and the honor—and the power. Especially the power to kill.

"Though he's gone rather…kill-happy"—there is nothing in the world that could keep Attica Jacobson, president of Panem, from smiling at this moment—"I have chosen Maxmilian Leone of District Ten." The Gamemaker looks up at his boss expectantly, and she smiles, contemplating.

"Good answer," she gives out. He lets out a breath of relief, but then sucks it right back in—there are two suggestions for victor left still.

"I think we can all agree that Collette Finch, though she has, um, _eyes_ for Drake Flint, has a lot of self-control. Just enough not to create a scene—if you know what I mean," Marco Rambodini explains. Miss Jacobson nods, ready to hear more from him. "So I have also chosen Collette Finch of District Two."

"_Ideal_ answer. She is the one, si—I mean, Marco." She isn't used to being above Gamemakers and not calling them "sir." "No one else, please. Unless it's unpreventable."

Marco smiles. "Thank you, ma'am. Now, just in case, though, we also will have to indifferent but brutal Hunter Blackthorne of District One."

Attica's grin widens. "Either of them! You are _magnificent_, Marco!" She stands up and pats him on the shoulder, and then opens the door for him. "That will be all."

_If he were at least eleven years younger…_ she thinks, her mind soaring as she pictures her Head Gamemaker's iridescently and naturally blue eyes on a younger man with most of his own features' body. His straight green hair; his perfect nose; his pale skin. And, of course, his certainly washboard abs, all perfectly carved with his striking features.

Then she is overwhelmed with sadness. She realizes why she likes him so much: He reminds her of her late fiancé, Julius Glitz. His features and his voice; his hairstyle and his personality—he's a dead-wringer for Julius, who died in a car accident the day he proposed as he went to the store to get milk, as the store's deliveries were all canceled for that week.

Attica sits down and draws. She doesn't pay attention to what she draws—she just draws. Lines, squiggles, marks—blending, hatching, dotting, sketching, _drawing_. Soon she has the artwork done. She comes out of her trance and looks down, sadness crossing over her more and more as she looks deeper into his gray, shaded eyes. She has drawn Julius.

"Why can't you be here, Jewel?" Jewel was his nickname. "Why'd you have to leave?"

Tears brim her eyes, but then someone knocks on her door and she pushes them away. She calls for them to come in with a harsh tone, and grabs a tissue. When the person comes in, she pretends to blow her nose to make up for her reddened eyes, her pale face. The man nods to her as if to say, "Bless you," and then alarm crosses over his face.

"I am so sorry. Does that bother you? Do you practice that religion?" he frets.

"It's fine, um…person. Panem is a, you know, somewhat free country." She gives him a vicious smirk that he cringes at. "So, what do you need, and what can I address you by?"

"I am Michael Corr, ma'am. The Head RCTM of my team in my assigned district, inching my way to the head of my district," he explains. She looks down and sees his Peacekeeper uniform, the pocket that isn't in the normal uniforms where they keep their RCTM—Rebellion Control Team Member—badges.

"So you're the irrelevant man who insists on bringing misery to me," she says indifferently, swiveling around in here chair. "Hmm, what was it? Thirty emails? And eighteen from you."

He shrugs, a look of embarrassment crossing his face. Then his face turns back into a mask. "I have news to deliver."

"Big shocker," she thinks aloud.

"You're too young for this…" He sighs.

Had she not just been thinking the same thing, she would have argued, threatened, maybe even had him taken out of the room, banned from seeing her. But since she agrees, she keeps her mouth shut and stares at a hangnail on her left pinky, worried of what the man behind her might say. She isn't ready for this; give her maybe three more years and she'd be readier than ever, but not now—not after her grandfather's death.

She sighs and shuts all the bad thoughts that are eating her alive out. But she can't. They're too dominant, always in the front of her mind, haunting her like they can jump out at her and kill her. She looks at them as enemies, though they're merely memories—bad, bad memories, slowly murdering her. It's like they rot her insides, tear out her heart—vicious murderers who only want her life.

It's so hard for her to concentrate sometimes. She still wants to live gloriously in her glory days, but she can't. She's too busy worrying about rebellions, knowing people want her deadly badly. She wants to go home and just be regular with her grandfather and grandmother like she used to—but she can't. And that's the most horrible of all those horrible truths: she _can't_, because they're dead.

_Dead and gone, _she thinks. _So stop thinking about them_. _And Julius. And Mom and Dad._

But it never ended, swirling either in the back of front of her mind, whirring like the wind and deafening any view and sanity and control she has over the situation. It all fades until the man isn't there, the room isn't there. The paperwork, the office, the rebellion, the computer, the heaviness—it's all gone, has vanished into thin air, never to return to surface.

And all that is left is the horrible feeling that she really wants to cry in someone's shoulder.

"Tell me quickly," she croaks.

"There is a rebellion striking up," Michael says.

"So? Fix it. Kill the instigators, bring harshness over the district—do anything," she whispers. "We're in desperate times. We have to get this country rolling along swiftly like when it started, but with the Games—and _now_."

He shakes his head. "It's not that simple, ma—"

"Then make it simple!" she yells, and swivels around, facing him with a menacing glare. She realizes she's about to snap a pencil in her sadness-induced rage. She throws the pencil at the RCTM and then stands up; she is starting to pace the room, muttering things that she makes sure her companion can't here. Then she faces him again, her face dyed red with anger.

"I can't, we can't—but you can, ma'a—"

"_Tell me HOW, then!_" she bellows, her words echoing around the room, around Michael, around herself, consuming them. Or maybe it's just echoing in her mind; she can't tell.

"There is a rebellion."

She nods, infuriated. "I _know_. Tell me what to do if you and the other stupid RCTQRPZ or _whatever_ people are the only ones who know."

"RCTM—Rebellion Control Team—"

"If you even _think_ the word 'member,' I will kill you here and now with the scissors in my desk drawer," she mumbles, her voice tense and rough, her eyes crazed.

"I thought the words, 'Please let me finish, with all due respect, Miss Jacobson,'" he tells her.

"You're treading on thin ice, Corr," she says. "One more wrong step and you'll fall through."

"I know, I know, just please don't flip out on me. It's our only chance so the country doesn't become some wildfi—"

"That metaphor got old the first time you used it in the email."

"I only used it once—"

"I KNOW. Get on with it!" she screeched.

He sighs. "Will you let me finish this time?"

"Yes, yes, just tell me," she says to him, anticipation in her voice. She taps her finger on the desk she's standing next to.

"The only way to make it die down is to announce that there is a Quarter Quell for the next Games."

**A/N: Yes, the mistakes in Michael's email were on purpose. By the way, like my title? I wanted something really dramatic. XD**


	24. Chapter 24: Living in Death

**A/N: I like to call this type of chapter a "Friday Episode." What that means is it has a lot of action, maybe a few surprises, emotions, and maybe a little suspense. **

**Friday Episodes won't come often, because I just have inspiration for them. Especially after watching an episode of Hollywood Heights on the computer (I don't have TeenNick -_-) that was actually a Friday Episode, so it has more WHAAAA than the other episodes because you have to wait through the weekend to see them. Nuff ramblin'. Enjoy the late chapter! (One day early last week, one day late this week. Equals out.)**

* * *

****_Where did I go wrong? _

_I lost a friend somewhere along in the bitterness._

_And I'd have stayed up with you all night had I known how to save a life._

_As he begins to raise his voice, you lower yours and grant him one last choice. _

_Drive until you lose the road, or break with the ones you've followed. _

_He will do one of two things._

_He will admit to everything, or he'll say he's just not the same._

_And you'll begin to wonder why you came._

___Where did I go wrong? _

_I lost a friend somewhere along in the bitterness._

_And I'd have stayed up with you all night had I known how to save a life._

___Where did I go wrong? _

_I lost a friend somewhere along in the bitterness._

_And I'd have stayed up with you all night had I known how to save a life._

_How to save a life.  
_

_ - How to Save a Life by The Fray  
_

* * *

**_D2- 17- (Drake Flint) –Day Three_**

"No, no, no!" Blessia shrieks. I start to edge forward to help her, but Collette holds me back. Blessia has to die. We all know that. But faking that I love her has brought at least a little friendship for me with her. I will always want to help her for as long as _she_ lives, but Collette comes first. For as long as _I_ live. She likes me back. I _love_ her. It's all balanced out. Except that I'm watching an ally brutally cut off another ally's body parts.

First her limbs, then damaging her "pretty little smuck face" as Max calls it, and then bringing out her innards, prepping and cutting them and pulling them as if they were a pig's pork meat.

Disgusting. Even for me. Animal guts just make my stomach go weak. And this makes me think of animal guts.

Fun.

**_D3- 14- (Myra De La Rosa) –Day Four_**

Blank. That's the color I see. Blank blackness. Of course, you might expect that from someone who's just woken up from a dank, painful sleep after having nearly been burned _alive_. No? Huh, I would've thought otherwise. I guess _I'd_ know best though, since I've experienced it firsthand. Have you? Yeah. Really didn't think so.

After a lovely moment in which I think back and forth as if having a conversation with myself in my head, I open my eyes. Or, actually, I become _able_ to open my eyes. A chill creeps down my spine. Drew's is the first face I see after my horrid experiences.

"You're alive, he whispers, giddy. "A…live. I can't believe it." He pauses. "I knew you'd be alive."

"Go…on…without me…," I say in a dramatic voice.

"Stop being so melodramatic," he tells me sternly, but he's smiling, so I know he's joking. He's still the same old annoying, sarcastic, and sometimes seemingly giddy type I suppose. I can deal with that. Who else would stay after… how many days?

"Hey, Drew, how long was I…"

A horrible realization hits me in the face and stays, but as a scared facial expression. My legs got the worst. They aren't useable, I can just tell. They will have to be… The word is oddly fitting in my mouth. The situation sucks, but at least I picked out the right word, right? Amputated. That's the word. But… we can't just chop off my legs, and with dangly little _useless_ legs, I can't win, so they can only be amputated in the Capitol. Which I won't make it to. It's all a circle.

Drew nods, pained. "A day or so. I didn't really keep track of time."

Looking down, I see my legs are blackened—totally gross, might I add—and _bloody. Super _disgusting. And heartbreaking. _I'm going to die, probably while legless, _I think grimly.

I'm. Gonna. Die.

Thoughts for pennies, or whatever that expression—

"Aah!" I burst out, painful agony slapping me in the face. And _now_—what a perfect time, right?—is when the first drop of loopy Myra comes in. I think so, anyway. "Drew, Drew, Drew—fix me _now_ or kill me. Oh," I add dramatically for the sponsors with a sick sense of humor, "the _painnnnn!_ The a-gon-y!" I say "a-gon-y" really fast.

"Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Oh, my freaking goodness…" Pacing and almost… hyperventilating?... my ally puts on a show, too, and either he is a great actor and is following my leas, or he is unintentionally flipping out all the way to District Eleven.

Oh. Never mind. We could be a block away from there. _We _don't _know._

_Hmm. Do _you_ ramble when in awful, _awful_ pain, Self? Why, yes, I do, Self._

Really loopy I am.

"_DREW!_" I spat. "I'm the one in pain here! You're stealing my…" I can't do it. It's so stupid! I shouldn't have to pretend like everything's fine when—"Aghhh…"—when I'm in _pain_. I'm getting all freaking loopy from all the happenings today.

A little noise is near us. I hope for it to be a sponsor gift, but I'm not getting my hopes up. Or if it is one, it's going to be a cookie, or water, or something we don't need, rather than something to dull my pain. Because my pain is "_interesting_," I suppose. But that's just my loopy talking.

When Drew turns the silver container's lid, his droopy face lifts and his eyes light up. He tosses me a little bottle with a large "WARNING" on it. I read them, but not before noticing it's painkillers. Elation shoots through me. They're only ninety-percent effective, they only truly take away slight pain, but they're pain_killers_. To _kill_ the _pain_. Therefore and forevermore for the short amount of time that I will be alive now, they are my best friends.

Not to sound like an addict from Six, but you try going through this, getting these, and _not using them_. It is truly, thoroughly, impossible.

"Side effects may be… blah, blah, blah, nothing serious," I whisper under my breath, and then look up at Drew. "Can you get me some water?"

"On it," Drew says, and then digs around his pack until his hand comes in contact with a canteen. He tosses it to me. I catch it and realize it's only a fourth full. We need water. I take in two small blue pills and then gulp down the water.

"Thanks," I mumble, wiping off my mouth.

Though everything else is very shaky and uncertain—and undeniably sucking—one thing _is_ for certain: I'm alive. Somewhat.

**_D10- 18- (Addelynn Demetriu_**) **_–Day Four _**

Heartburn—one of the many distasteful things in life, especially when it pops out of the blue for the first time in your life. Does it come with stress? If so, this is a perfect time. I have no clue. While I was raising my siblings, I didn't look "heartburn" up in the dictionary too often, you know? Instead I worked, went to school, raised them, raised _myself_. A hectic life was mine.

"Artermissile," I say.

Artemis looks over, a look of "Really?" on her face. I smile, pretending to be proud of my twist of her name, nodding. "Yes, Adderlintel?" she says back, playing with my name with a sly grin. I roll my eyes. Our alliance is staying strictly for our survival, but our friendship is growing strong. That's not good, but I doubt I'll have to kill her—knock on wood—so I go along with it.

"I am starving—you?" I ask her, taking my bow, the pain in my side flaring up again. Having been given two full days of rest in a room deep in the castle, I feel a lot better now—enough to function, at least—but the pain is still imminent and _right there_. It burns my stomach relentlessly and never lets up as long as I'm moving any of my muscles—or that's what it _feels_ like, anyway.

"Very. But I'll go," Artemis offers.

"No, I want to go out," I tell her. "It's fine."

Arty eyes me carefully, and then shrugs. I grab my bow and sheath of arrows and jog out. _If anyone is out at the Cornucopia,_ I recite in my head, going over the plan Arty and I made yesterday for this case scenario, _retreat as fast as possible. If they've spotted me, shoot them and run in a different direction, towards the Bell Room. Make it there and ring the bell, the signal that you're in trouble to the other. _

Barreling down the stairs carefully, I load my bow, telling myself not to groan out in pain. I shake my head. _Stay strong,_ I think. _I'm the older one, so I stay strong._ I've always had to stay strong, constantly, so it's not that hard. The occasional _tiny_ whimper escapes me, but for most of the time I stay silent and continue to run down steps, through halls, and, finally, the Cornucopia room is around the corner. I peek around the wall slowly, quietly. Seeing no one, I venture a step out, my bow raised, ready for attack.

No one.

I smile. _This will be a lot easier than I thought, _I think as I dart over to the Cornucopia. There is one empty backpack lying in the middle of the floor. I take it as I run, falling down in the process. I scramble back up, cursing to myself and shoot over to the Cornucopia. I stuff all the food I can get my hands on in the pack as fast as I can. Then I see a large backpack, a gun, and another sheath of arrows, all in my vicinity. I grab the sheath really quick—my life is priority—and then reach for the—

"Come _on,_ Lion…," groans a voice.

"You do _not_ mou—" I can't hear the rest of this "Lion" guy's sentence, as he must lower his voice. "I heard something!"

My eyes widening, I grab the backpack and run. And by that I mean, nearly tripping over your feet run. But the voices are far enough away that I can slow down so I don't make a noise on the staircase. When I finally turn the corner, I exhale in relief, but then my escape is to no avail—I'm going to be killed anyway. They've found me, of _course_.

"Split up. I'll go down that hall. Hunter, you go down that one. Drake, you go down that one. Collette, you go up the stairs," orders the one who must be "Lion."

Wait a second. Lion. The voice. In the Careers.

Max.

I'm about to shout out, "Max, it's alright! It's me, Addelynn!" But he's psycho, and once so long ago, I swore to myself that I'd never ask for _his_ help. He is so arrogant, like he is the best there ever was! I absolutely hate him, and I'm sure he's not so willing to do me any favors, especially one involving him _not_ killing me. And the only reason I can think of for him to be the _leader of the Careers_ is that he went totally insane and flipped out.

Super deadly.

I load my bow and stop dead in my tracks. This was the plan. If only one person is there, kill them. She's the only one here, coming after me. This Collette girl is of one, with no long-distance weapon—if I remember correctly from training—in sight. I'm golden. I think, anyway. One simple kill, and then get Artemis so we can head out the back exit and into a section of the walls, our exact escape plan. Complicated, maybe overly-thought-out, but hopefully very effective and life-saving.

As soon as I see her, I freeze. I've been in a battle before, on the verge of death, not exactly willing to kill but knowing I might have to and just going for the thing that will save my life, but right now, I freeze, merely a statue, my bow raised up, but my arrow won't go. The girl has a knife in a throwing position, but she doesn't throw, as if, despite that she's a trained murderer, she _can't_ kill me.

"Go," she mouths. "Next time I see you, you _will_ be dead, but go—_now_," she whispers, starting head back, calling down that she hasn't found anything. But then my mind backtracks, totally off of what point we're on at the moment. I haven't heard that she's letting me go. No, I'm still in the standstill when my mind wakes up, and so it tells me to release the arrow. And I do.

I release it, and then carry out the rest of my plan, taking one last look at the bloody wound in the girl's stomach. She convulses on the ground, screaming, but she can't be saved—not with the primitive supplies we have in the arena. She's dead for sure. I have never felt so…weird. So _alike_ them, and that, _trust me_, isn't a good thing.

And then the cannon sounds and I collapse like it was my own.

I can't do this anymore. The arena. The Games. Being away from _home_. From my kids, my friends. I hate it. I want my life back.

_Thump, thump, thump. _"Collette?"

**_D9- 18- (Gray Hager) – Day Four_**

It feels like I lost—I don't know. Not Stacy. It feels like a lost a little brother, like I'd known Ryan since he was born. I should be telling him to be quiet, that yes, he can probably shoot a rabbit if he were hunting, that someone might be near. I should be thinking of how annoying he is right now, instead of how he is _dead_.

Pain has taken on a new level of excruciation, I will say that.

It's not just that Ryan is dead that makes the pain so close and upfront and _real_. It's that he was ripped away from a great life worth living back home where he'd live nice life, and all at such a young age. Against his own will. It's enough to make someone at least feel their heart tug—even if just a bit. People with hearts, anyway. _Real_ hearts, not those artificial, unfeeling, meaningless things that pump the blood inside Careers' and Capitol citizens' hearts. Those things could be confused as a store-bought, defective item.

Lives are being lost, souls are being crushed, people are changing, and some are turning into killers against their true will without even knowing it. I don't understand how these people don't see what they're doing. They're robots, is what they are. Heartless, soulless, computerized robots with no feelings, completely operating on their dimness in their small brains. And for the few smart ones, they're completely calculating and their mind is their guide, whereas their heart is where their conscience is, despite what most might say. As robotized creatures that live and breathe without a heart, they have no conscience. Everything they want to be right is right and everything that they want to be wrong is wrong.

Manipulating.

Conniving.

Deadly.

But it doesn't matter. Because if they all want me to die, I won't. If they don't, I won't. If they try and kill me, I'll kill them. What they want I can't do unless it involves avenging my little "brother" by winning. It's time for Gray Hager to take over. It's time for a new era, and I think I know just how to start that. But first, I have to win. I may not be the same afterwards, but I'll always have the same goal.

No more Ryans, Sams, and Miracles, will die out in the world like they did—not ever again. Not as long as I live. I swear it to them, to him.

To Him.

My determination is almost scary, psycho. But I don't really care—not anymore. To kill the unfeeling, you must become of the unfeeling, whether it's revocable or not. A risk I'll just have to take.

**A/N: Gray's comment of "To Him" was not meant for me to shove my beliefs down anyone's throats. I try not to put them out there in chapters and in my characters and such, but sometimes it just fits to me, so I just have to put it or I'll be all like "Why didn't I put that there?" thirty years from now. XD Anyway, again, not shovin' anything down anyone's throats. **

**Now that _that's_ been said, you can drop a review? *blackmails you with another Friday Episode chapter***


	25. Chapter 25: I'll Miss You

**A/N: Sorry for the late update. I really don't have an excuse other than I got lazy and school got in the way. Maybe a little Hollywood Heights and Switched at Birth catching up on kept me away too…**

**So, wish me luck, because I'm in a writing contest, and if I win, people around the world will read my stuff! Yay! **

**But oh, dear Lord, boo, too. I am flipping out about it, like any human being of a writer would. LOL. **

**Enjoy the chapter and drop a review!**

**_D6- 15- (Melanie/Aureliana Dove) –Day Four_**

THE LIGHT IS DIM, JUST THE WAY I NEED IT. I need to think. I need to stay Melanie. And what better place to think than a vast wasteland? The doors have all stayed open for a day or two, but just in case this one starts to close, I sit at it all the time, waiting for someone to find me. The goodness in me just wants me to die, because I'm dangerous and mindless when I'm in my other state. Someone should have found me before I ever hurt a fly.

I'm dangerous beyond belief. I could kill someone so brutally it'd scar even the vicious monster that is Aureliana. I wish I didn't even have multiple personality disorder. It's such a burden! I have to stay calm all the time in _this_ mess, and even then I still can't even help or control when I switch over. It sucks, it really does, and it prohibits me from living a normal life, and having friends, and getting a boyfriend, and, most of all, whatever decided I was the unlucky victim for it made damn sure I wouldn't be able to win with it.

It's like a disease.

And I'd wish it on very few.

It's so ugly, too. Maybe I might be able to make a friend or _something_. But the word "disorder" sets me out from everyone. People tend to stay away from those with disorders or something wrong with the functions and workings of their organs or brain, like it really is a disease and they'll catch it. Like being dyslexic, blind, deaf, narcoleptic, or plagued with dissociative identity disorder is like being plagued with a highly contagious flu, like the chicken pox. Like if you're near us, you'll lose your eyesight, or you'll "sprout another personality!" I've heard that one before. I punched the kid. I was eleven.

And it'll be with me for my short, short life.

Because I'm going to get killed, I know it.

Or I'm going to win—highly-unlikely. And if I win, I can promise the world now that I won't be alive for long.

Because I am a coward, and my heart will not withstand the guilt of murdering someone for long. Maybe I'll chicken out and be a druggy, or an alcoholic, or one of the morphling addicts. That'll probably add _another_ personality or take away both altogether until I'm just a mess of drunkenness, drugs, or a mess of unfeeling, uncaring blubber, floating around the Earth as an extra to all scenes, eating my morphling and painting graffiti everywhere, painting on myself, living really peacefully, free of all pains and troubles. That sounds nice.

And so it begins. Melanie Dove's era of morphling. District Six is known for its abundance of morphling addicts. They scour the streets all the time, unaware that their eyes are huge and their yellow skin baggy and gross. They're always friendly. They're always kind. It must be a good life—being an addict. Huh. I wonder why the world doesn't indulge in this bliss. It's kind of rebellious.

Two for the price of one, then.

**_D10- 18- (Maxmilian Leone) –Day Five_**

_I _AM IN CHARGE. I am the ruler, the leader, the most vicious; I control where we go, who kills who, when we sleep. I am the controller of these mindless fools with no brains but for each other and winning, no predetermined angle of how to get the prize. But that's where we differ. I _know_ I'll win, and I know exactly how. I will win by taking control and terrifying every living tribute. I will spare one so the can spread the word, and I'll tell them that for every tribute that is not afraid of me, they will be killed harder. If they're face shows up in the sky, I'll have my backup candidates to do my dirty work.

The Games are in the palm of my hand. I have got this in the bag, and that bag is in my reach. I can't afford, nor is it possible, for me to lose. It's my unknown-until-now destiny, my life's purpose, the soul aspiration of my existence, the reason I was put on this planet in the first place. It's mine, the crown is, and no one can take it from me—not anyone.

"Guys!" I order to the two sleepers. Drake wakes up, puffy-eyed. Collette. I roll my eyes. "Get up, up, up!"

"Shut up, up, up," Hunter says sullenly. I guess she was somewhat friends with Collette. They're both idiots, mourning that expendable trash.

"Watch it, One," I snap back, and then gather up my stuff—the toothbrush and its accessories, plus some food I got out but didn't eat last night—and turn back to them. "Ready to go? It's hunting time, and we won't stop until one of us gets a kill. We've been lazy so far."

"We've been _smart,_" Drake mutters as he polishes his sword absently, the red fading from around his eyes. I consider pinning him down and asking him what that was, but I decide against it, and, instead, I smile wickedly at the both of them, a speech coming into my head. As Drake rolls his eyes, he turns to Hunter and asks, "I'm betting it's a lecture—what about you?"

"Shut up, idiot," Hunter whispers. Good girl.

I look at them intensely. They look back, bored. They won't be bored for long.

"You two are the last Career district-originated Careers in these Games. But that does not even come close to meaning someone from a non-Career-district district can't kill you so hard you'll be begging for mercy, and that non-Career is me, hear me? I'm in charge. Don't make me prove it to you, because you can be dam sure that I will," I say. "Got me?

"And Collette is _dead_. So, you two? Get the hell over her. And get the hell up. Let's go." I turn around to walk off.

"Who are you—the president of Panem? Or are you the princess of Panem, Max?" Drake calls from behind me. I smirk. Battle or surrender. Cannon-sounding chance: sixty to forty. Today has just heated up just a bit.

**_D11- 17- (Roslynn Ellis) –Day Five_**

THE AFTERNOON LIGHT SENDS RAYS DOWN ON MY FACE. I can see in the mirror that was in the bottom of my pack that I tied to a tree that's next to me that my hair has light bouncing off of it. The grease probably contributes to that, as I haven't been able to shower in six days. Or five? I don't know—I haven't been keeping track of time.

I have a new tactic, a new way to keep myself hidden, but in luxury. I'm creating a house, weaving it together, lugging big dead logs, camouflaging it with leaves. It'll be perfect when it's done, and no one seems to be coming out to the desert. Who would? Ring of Fire. Not exactly the most pleasant of names.

And yet I'm the idiot who came in here. The person who pointed it out.

My instincts are favorable. I just needed these woods. And here they are!

Suddenly there's a loud roar, like a lion, but crackly and distant. And then a _huge_, deafening thump that sounds like it could be right next to me. The awful-sounding noises come closer and closer. As they do, it's like the sun is gradually falling down on top of me because it's so hot. Confused, I look around, a knife at ready. My instincts are to climb a tree, but I don't want to do that yet. Give up my position.

Then I see it. Movement. Not too close but not far enough away. It's like a red flickering. I try to think of anyone with red hair in the Games but come up short. Now I do scramble up a tree, terror setting it like the sun at sunset. My mind whirls for an explanation, but the only one is a tribute. Then again, I'm not exactly thinking perfectly straight, so there might be other options my just won't consider.

I look around and see nothing this time. I look up at the holographic sun. At least, I hope it's a holograph. Or, no, I hope it's not. The Capitol would find a way to draw a holograph and its fake heat closer until the thousands of degrees hit me and made me suffer.

How do people enjoy this?! You'd think the raw flesh, the bitter, gnawing, grotesque, inhumanely-made wounds with the relentless burn of pain thrashing through innocent children who had done nothing, might have even thought differently and allied with the Capitol way back when, might upset someone. But apparently not. No, it's the _best_ television show ever—sarcasm intended. It's sick, is what it is.

The air around me starts to feel sticky with hotness, the humidness coming on so suddenly it's nearly impossible. But they found a way. It feels, like I thought would happen, like I'm being engulfed by the sun, slowly but surely, its heat only partway reaching me yet. The bitterness I felt previously for them is parked in the back of my mind, replaced by terror again. Adrenaline has yet to come.

So has my ability to move.

It's so terrorizing that I feel like I can't move. I'm trying too hard, and my joints just won't cooperate. As much as I try to slow down, calm down, just make myself move, I'm still stuck up in a tree, waiting to be burnt to a pulp.

I can't move. I can't think. I'm losing my ability to breathe in this heat. My heart is pumping so fast it feels like it could thump right out of my chest. And if I live through this—doubtable—then I'll have major sunburns.

Yes. The sun is eating me and I grasp onto the thought that I'm getting sunburned. Silly me. Where is the rulebook for when you're a fake sun's lunch? I think I need to go over it.

The sudden, unlike me burst of sarcasm and the need to slam it in someone's face wakes me up. Immediately I get moving, going down the tree. But this feeling keeps nipping at me. I can't quite…_get_ it. I keep going, adrenaline finally setting in, taking the place of all my organs. As soon as I hit the ground, the heat lifts off me slightly, but it's still unnaturally hot. I keep going.

The feeling keeps hitting me. As soon as I have a perfect, firm grasp on it, ready to determine its meaning and why it makes my knees go weak, it falls away, and I have to just _keep on going_, waiting for the sun to get me again, maybe for good. And the feeling makes my head spin, which gives me a migraine when added to the running, the heat, and the noise. It makes me dizzy, too, like my eyes can't focus on their targets when I feel it.

Finally I hold onto it long enough. It's the feeling of hopelessness and pain, utter helplessness against this horrible being that's not even alive set to destroy me. It's a feeling in which my brain tries to convince the rest of me to shutdown, collapse, and give in to the horrible, absurdly wrong death they've set up for me. But my heart has that lovely thing called adrenaline in it, and I always think with my heart, not my brain, unfortunately sometimes, fortunately others, like now, and so I decide I'm not going to be a part of their sick, sick lineup, their stupid games in these Games that makes us be their little mechanical lapdogs, ready to do tricks at their command because they control us, and because in the end we'll get a treat. Half-human robots, is what they want us to be, but their cruelty hits me in the face, so I'm not going to act like their machines.

I'm going to be _me_. Not their play-version of me, just _ME_.

"So go ahead," I whisper. "Kill me."

The words feel funny in my mouth as I pad along the dirt, my breath short and shallow, and not just because of the running, but because of the heat.

"Kill me," I repeat, in the moment. "Kill me kill me kill me kill me." Call me crazy, but there's inspiration in those two words.

And so they try. The pain eats at me as the heat falls down like some scientist has just made it so I am made of fire and I have just woken up from sedation, and the pain is just finally starting to eat at me, claw at me like a rabid animal feeding on my flesh. It burns and aches and it won't subside no matter how hard I try. I find myself weakening until I collapse and crash into a bush that may or may not be poison ivy. As light runs down to meet me, I find my vision failing, and all the while it feels like my hearing has gone too, like the heat and light has projected some deafening sounds that immediately took away my hearing. It's a perfect death scene. The light will eat me, and I will hear nothing but a harmonious ringing in my ears.

And then fire touches me just as everything goes back to normal. It sits itself down on me and works its way down my body as I thrash and convulse all over myself. But I don't feel the disgustingness of the vomit. Instead I feel the indescribable pain of a lifetime. All those awful, despicable Career deaths don't even amount to the literal fiery pain that's sticking needles all over me. I wish I could just die, or lose all feeling.

And then the pain stops. The bliss from the pain is amazing. I sigh in the face of the gorgeous relief as it works down my body like the fire did. But all my energy is focused on me still thrashing and working my body to stop it, tell it that all is good and the pain was taken away by some new, softhearted, sympathizing Gamemaker. Or I've been sent to death and it's just taking its time to take me under, doing its workings such as numbing me for the great pain of being succumbed to death.

"Bye, Rosemary, Aiden, Dad, Casandra, Crissy, Blaine," I whisper, their faces flashing through one by one. And then my mom's face is right in front of me as she holds down a hand. "Hi, Mom." I smile, not questioning it a bit. "I missed you."

**A/N: The tributes whose names are bold are alive:**

**D1- (Luxuries)**

Male- Kaiden Johnson 16. 22downwiththecapitol22

**Female- Hunter Blackthorne 17. Rikachan101**

**D2- (Masonry)**

**Male- Drake Flint 17. jblonde123**

Female- Collette Finch 16. jblonde123

**D3- (Technology)**

**Male- Andrew "Drew" Reox 16. CallingMeFakeWontMakeYouReal **

**Female- Myra De La Rosa 14. ****CallingMeFakeWontMakeYouReal **

**D4- (Fishing)**

Male- Ryan Melly 12. Bowserboy129.

Female- Blessia Fornbrex 17.

**D5- (Power) **

Male- Sam Ryans 12. goldie031

Female- Miracle Rawlins 13. goldie031

**D6- (Transportation)**

Male- Apollo Ephraim 14. Rikachan101

**Female- Melanie/Aureliana Dove 15. CapitolRules**

**D7- (Lumber)**

Male- Tasi Merkava 16. RockSolid

Female- Temari Hyuga 18. ladyyuuki16

**D8- (Textiles)**

Male- Colin Crowe 15. experiment15

Female- Sahra Lemo 14. Bowserboy129

**D9- (Grain)**

**Male- Gray Hager 18. Bowserboy129**

**Female- Artemis Nightheart 15. Rikachan101**

**D10- (Livestock)**

**Male- Maxmilian "Lion" Leone 18. CapitolRules**

**Female- Addelynn Demetriu 18. iJustMightBeCrazy**

**D11- (Agriculture)**

Male- Rogis Trakholm 17. blueyoshguy

Female- Roslynn Ellis 17. experiment15

**D12- (Mining)**

Male- Haver Grale 17. Bowserboy129

**Female- Chaste Christensen 12. Araka-chan**

**That is 10 out of 24! They are going _quick_! **

**Sorry if I killed your character. It had to be done. I mean, there is only one victor, right?**


	26. Chapter 26: Kill Me Slowly, Kill Me Hard

**A/N: You're going to like this one. *grins evilly* Bwahahahahaha! **

* * *

_Kiss me, out of the bearded barley,  
_

_Nightly, beside the green, green grass,  
_

_Swing, swing, swing your spinning step,  
_

_I'll wear those shoes and you wear that dress.  
_

_So, kiss me, beneath the milky twilight,  
_

_Lead me out on the moonlit floor,  
_

_Lift up your hand and strike up a band  
_

_And make the fireflies dance,  
_

_Silver moon's sparkling,  
_

_So, kiss me...  
_

_- 'Kiss Me' by The Fray_

* * *

**_D9- 15- (Artemis Nightheart) – Day Five_**

"Will you talk about it now?" I asked, around five.

"No."

"Now?" Five fifteen.

"No."

"Now?" Five thirty.

"No."

It's the same answer. Every fifteen minutes or so, it's the same answer. Now, at six o'clock, I ask Addelynn for the final time. She glares at me, long and hard. Her glare is stern and like my mother's. It tells me to _Stop. Now._ It makes me feel young and makes Add seem old. Like she has authority, wisdom. Suddenly I have a billion questions to ask after the initial question she'll say no to.

"Fine," she breathes, and I raise my eyebrows, pleased. Everything about Add makes me feel so much _younger_, makes me act so childish. I make my face go back to a regular, bored look as she sighs. "I heard Max. They started to look for me, I shot a girl named Collette, and then I ran, got back here before things got bad. Okay?"

Her exasperated tone makes me want to ask her to give me more details, just to get to her, but she's my friend, I think, so I'm not going to. Instead, I think of what to ask her about her home life. Somehow, she doesn't seem like a really young mom.

"Do you have siblings?" I ask quietly, cocking my head to make me look innocent. To get answers. Years and years of acting innocent so I don't get put in jail for thievery, and now it just comes naturally to me.

She looks down, her eyes glistening suddenly. Her voice is small. "It was my dad. He…um, constantly abused me, and then… I have four kids," she explains. Her lip trembles, making me wonder how awful life really must have been back home for her. "Faye. She's three. The twins, Lily and River. They're five. And then six-year-old Liam, who's running the joint back home when my friend Dru can't."

I frown. "But…he's…_six_," I say, trying to compute Add's life story.

"Tell me about it."

**_D12- 12- (Chaste Christensen) – Day Five_**

Dark and chilly, the outdoors beckons to me like a mother to her child on an endless night. If you were in the middle of the castle, it might seem like midmorning at this time. But, being near one of these rare windows, I see that it's _very early_ morning. The sun has just risen over the horizon. It settles and kicks out its footrest, making its slow way to the top of the sky.

I remember being captivated last night, captivated to the sun as it shone over the Ring of Fire. It seemed like it was falling from the sky. Its phosphorescent fire shone across the arena. I'm sure someone in the Ring of Wind could've seen the fiery holographic figure create such a beautiful picture, its reds, yellows, whites, and oranges melting to the green hills from one of the rings and the gray walls around the rings.

I lie back down on the cold concrete floors and cuddle against the dark black wall, hugging my knees to my chest. Coldness still creeps into my system, but I try to push it away. Drowsiness is overriding me, but I just can't seem to drift off. Stars of fire and bloody heat lick at me when I close my eyes, so I have to try to go to sleep with my eyes open.

When I do sleep, I have a nightmare.

_I'm running. From what, I don't know. I don't question it though, not for a second. I don't even look back. I just continue to propel my legs forward in an insane attempt at running from my relentless enemy—whoever or _whatever_ my enemy is. _

_Heat kicks at me like a playful child with a soccer ball. Except, this is painful. It hurts me and pinches me and bites at me with its raw, utter, evil force, so much so that I collapse and am forced to allow this wave of heat to beat me until it has burned every portion of me and I am nothing more than a crisp, not even salvageable. A miner after an explosion._

_Suddenly my dad shows up. His eyes burn into me. He touches me, and all the raging pain I didn't know I felt comes flaring up, then pulls down until it stops. All is soothing and peaceful. My father's eyes still bore into my skull as I sigh happily, about to get up and go find Mom so we can all go pick flowers in the Meadow together._

_"Chaste!" he screams. I've only ever heard Dad speak like this before, bellowing so loud people in the next district could hear, menacing and making anyone—even those he knows—feel a shiver creep up their spine and then back down, like a spider crawling up a wall. "Do not die. Do _not_, under any circumstances, join your mother and I. You hear me?"_

_"Yes, Daddy. I miss you, though," I say as he wraps his arms around me. _

_"Stay on the other side." Suddenly he's frantic. "We've lost her, Mother-dear! She's…with us."_

I snap awake, frowning. That was the strangest dream ever.

I go back to sleep, smiling softly. I love my father. I miss him. Maybe this time I'll dream a good dream, and about him.

Only, it's not sleep when you never wake up.

**_CAPITOL POV._**

Attica watched as the District Eleven female's cannon fired. She frowned, wondering how she could have just simply…_died_. She blew it aside. _Oh, well,_ she thought. _It's better this way, narrowing it down to our victor. _Speaking of which…

She flipped over to the camera in which the Careers were on the screen. The normally-bickering pair of boys was not in a heated argument today. That disappointed the president. Instead of fighting with the other, Drake was sitting in a lawn chair, pale as a ghost, looking sick as a dog. _That's odd…_ the president thought.

Nearby, her _victor_ was vomiting all over the place, sicker than sickness can make you. Her victor! This was an abomination! Hunter was to be _protected,_ not _infected._ How did they all get sick, anyway? The arena was supposed to be an illness-free environment. If one person got sick, the arena was supposed to make that person's illness not contagious in the least. How…

"Miss President! Miss Jacobson!" shouted the Head Gamemaker, Marco Rambodini, from outside her door. "May I come in? It's urgent!"

"Come in," Attica sighed angrily.

As soon as he came in, she melted, like always, to his face, just like Julius's…

_Focus!_

"There is a disease, as I'm sure you know, in the arena," Marco started. "It targets the brain. If you're younger, you can usually make it through without all the symptoms and then randomly die in your sleep, like our friend Chaste. But the older you are, the more symptoms you get, the more you vomit, and the more hallucinations you get when you're close to death.

"This disease has infected and started to show for the following: Hunter Blackthorne (but we're working to find a cure or at least something to help the disease so she wins, don't worry), Drake Flint, and Drew Reox. You can expect Myra De La Rosa and Maxmilian Leone to start to show soon, too, being so exposed to the disease and all. Especially Miss De La Rosa, as she has been…close to Drew.

"Those who have it but are in a good stage where no symptoms," Marco went on, "and very few strands of it is in their system—meaning we can fully cure these people—are: Melanie Dove and Artemis Nightheart."

"So…Gray, Myra, Maxmilian, and Addelynn are the only ones who don't have it at all?" Attica asked. She was appalled. How did such an awful thing get into her arena?! Someone was going to be killed.

"Yes, ma'am. We have reasons to believe that if Myra doesn't catch it soon, she is immune. And Addelynn is immune. We've run tests through the arrow's she's shot, and they've come up with the same answer," the Head Gamemaker told his president. "Immune. Every time. Myra's is always inconclusive, and Maxmilian and Gray's—theirs popped up as 'not immune.' Obviously Artemis, Melanie, Hunter, Drake, and Drew aren't immune—as wasn't Chaste."

"Okay, stop with this! How the hell did it get in the damn arena in the first place?" President Jacobson burst. She slammed her palms against the table in a fit of rage. "Who?! Which Gamemaker was it? They will be executed."

"He's already been fired, I can assure you, but execution seems a good choice, miss," Mr. Rambodini said, not at all shocked—or at least not showing it—at her outburst. "It was Dr. Daniel Smith-Wright, age twenty-four, and he's living in Apartment 307 of the Acres Building on Snow Street. He was in charge of checking over the immune levels for sicknesses in the arena, and he obviously did awfully."

Attica stood up, enraged. She threw a pencil at her copier. "Obviously! Kill him. Kill him _now_. Arrange his execution— No, _wait_. Let _me_ arrange it."

"Of course, Miss Jacobson. Now, we've been sending down all the cures we've hired doctors to try and come up with based on their brainwaves and the oddness of the disease. Many have come close to working, but none have kept any of the sick healthy for long. In fact, those who caught it overnight got an immediate positive reaction, but five minutes later, they were ill again."

"Those being?" demanded the childish president.

"Drake and Hunter. Melanie caught it overnight, too, but she isn't far into yet. She was one of the two half-immunes whose immune system will be able to partway fight off the disease before giving up. The other half-immune is Gray. He hasn't caught it at all yet, and he hasn't moved much since he last settled, grieving for his dead ally. His brainwaves have shown us he is stressed and angry, though, and they point to the probability that he will go off on a hunt to kill someone soon, therefore most likely catching this disease," Marco explained thoroughly.

"We call it the Halved Disease, as, if it spread outside the arena, it could halve what's left of the human race right here in Panem. It could endanger our species. Which is why duplicate bodies will be sent home from now on, and the real, infected bodies will be stored in an underground area where we've stored sick or malfunctioning mutts for the past twenty years. That area will be closed off for mankind's safety, and most likely the volunteers to take the bodies will be killed. Of course, they will be troublemakers. We can't risk killing off too many at this stressful point in time, Miss Jacobson. Mindless deaths will be paid for when the last man on the planet dies.

"I am finished. I'll update soon. Goodbye, president. Don't forget antibacterial hand soap if you take a trip to the store," Marco concluded, and left Attica all alone again.

**_D3- 14- (Myra De La Rosa) – Day Five_**

"Here, Drew, another thingy came in," I tell him as he coughs up District Three and then vomits it out. I look away, the sight making me feel queasy.

He shakes his head vigorously. "It's not gonna work!" he bellows, anger and madness in his voice. "It's gonna help for a moment, and then it's just gonna bring it all back full force."

"I know, I know, but can you try it—for me? Do it because _I_ want you better." I pause, looking at his involuntary look of guilt as he pushes it away as quick as it came. "You don't want me sick, do you?"

Immediately her reluctantly snatches the container from my hand and turns its lid slowly. Once a _pop_ sounds, he pulls off the lid and throws it through the Ring of Shadow's forest we made our way into. The two brains of intelligent District Three children practically raised—whether we listen or not—for this stuff worked well together between us when I woke up, and now we're in the forest, my blackened, disgusting legs useless and his stomach a pit that holds so much food, and then makes him choke it up.

He told me it's all really painful. I didn't want to believe he was in so much pain, so I've told myself for the last twenty-four hours that he's over exaggerating; trying to get me to believe my condition is not as bad as it could be. I know that's not it, but somewhere in me I keep hoping that that's what it is and still I don't give in, for fear he won't quit. For fear that he will really have to explain to me what's going on, that it _hurts_.

He sips the medicine until the container is dry. Though his pale skin reddens immediately from the heat and his illness-filled eyes light up with relief, a scowl stays on his face. I don't blame him. He gets up, walks around, and sits down. Suddenly his scowl leaves and the face that means he's in a rush all of the sudden appears on his face. He gathers up a knife or two from me, and a lot of rope from my backpack.

"I'll be back in an hour. Go to sleep," he orders.

I nod. Sleep might not be so bad.

Once he's left, I try to hug my knees to my chest and sleep in a curled-up ball, but then I remember their useless, motionless burdens, not legs. They're no longer even limbs. So instead, I shift myself to my side and feel the awful weirdness that is not feeling the sticks poking on my legs, when a fly lands on one of them. A shiver creeps up my spine as I think about it. Even the parts that didn't get in fire—from my knees up—is a little burnt, and all useless. My legs are ruined.

Suddenly that's not what I'm thinking about. Suddenly all I can think of is Drew, and the relief I felt when he took this last medicine, the fear I feel for him now.

I drift off, wondering—_Why am I thinking of Drew?_

He shakes me up, bending over me with a smile. "I'm all better." He shows me a dead rabbit with its feet cut off, and lots of greens.

I smile back. He helps me sit up and then sits next to me. I look over at him at the same time he does to me, and then lean in and kiss him. The weirdest part—he kisses back.

And then…we're just encased in each other's being, wrapped in the other's warmth and the sensation that we just want _each other_ until we finally pull away for breath.

And the one thing I can think of to say is "I had to do that."

**A/N: A disease?! *gasp* How dare I! **

**Haha, nice little thingy there with the thingamabob, right? Now, just because Drew was healed, doesn't mean yours will all be. He wasn't tested for the disease, so they don't know he's a half-immune, and the cure that worked on him only works for half-immunes. They will, though. It's all piecing together to become one giant screw up of a Games, trust me.**

**AND FINALLY! DE LA REOX! (Myra and Drew's couple name is officially De La Reox.)**

**The tributes whose names are bold are alive:**

**D1- (Luxuries)**

Male- Kaiden Johnson 16. 22downwiththecapitol22

**Female- Hunter Blackthorne 17. Rikachan101**

**D2- (Masonry)**

**Male- Drake Flint 17. jblonde123**

Female- Collette Finch 16. jblonde123

**D3- (Technology)**

**Male- Andrew "Drew" Reox 16. CallingMeFakeWontMakeYouReal **

**Female- Myra De La Rosa 14. CallingMeFakeWontMakeYouReal **

**D4- (Fishing)**

Male- Ryan Melly 12. Bowserboy129.

Female- Blessia Fornbrex 17.

**D5- (Power) **

Male- Sam Ryans 12. goldie031

Female- Miracle Rawlins 13. goldie031

**D6- (Transportation)**

Male- Apollo Ephraim 14. Rikachan101

**Female- Melanie/Aureliana Dove 15. CapitolRules**

**D7- (Lumber)**

Male- Tasi Merkava 16. RockSolid

Female- Temari Hyuga 18. ladyyuuki16

**D8- (Textiles)**

Male- Colin Crowe 15. experiment15

Female- Sahra Lemo 14. Bowserboy129

**D9- (Grain)**

**Male- Gray Hager 18. Bowserboy129**

**Female- Artemis Nightheart 15. Rikachan101**

**D10- (Livestock)**

**Male- Maxmilian "Lion" Leone 18. CapitolRules**

**Female- Addelynn Demetriu 18. iJustMightBeCrazy**

**D11- (Agriculture)**

Male- Rogis Trakholm 17. blueyoshguy

Female- Roslynn Ellis 17. experiment15

**D12- (Mining)**

Male- Haver Grale 17. Bowserboy129

Female- Chaste Christensen 12. Araka-chan

**That is 9 out of 24! They are going _quick_! **

**Sorry if I killed your character. It had to be done. I mean, there is only one victor, right?**


	27. Chapter 27: You've Got this Hold on Me

**A/N: I'm BAAAAACK!**

**Anyway, if you have a spot reserved for this story's sequel, please get me your character quick, because I plan to end the arena _within_ the next six chapters, and end the story within the next eight chapters.**

**All of you who were PMed about being in the final three… well, I didn't lie. It was before the disease. So one of you will be, unfortunately, taken out and replaced in the final three by another tribute. **

**Anyway, OMG, I'VE BEEN GONE FOREVER! I just abandoned you for no good reason! Ha, NO, I DIDN'T. No, homework's been insane, my friends have been in a frenzy of "LET'S DO THIS, LET'S DO THAT!" and also some…things have been going on. But since I don't like to spill out my personal life (except when I'm angry and I accidentally do it in a rant) and I honestly only have a half-clue what's going on, I'll leave you all guessing! Ha! I'm so evil…**

**So, let's clear one thing up before I give you my flawless, written and rewritten, lost and found, almost lost but found, lost for good but rewritten chapter (yeah, it was a heckuva time writing this darn thing): I WILL NOT GIVE UP ON STORIES, SO IF I'M GONE FOR A LONG TIME, DO NOT ASSUME SO OR MY NOSE ARMY WILL HUNT YOU DOWN WHILE I SIP PINK LEMONADE BY A POOL IN ITALY, EATING PIZZA—WITH ALEXANDER LUDWIG. *daydream* **

**Anyway, I know I'm overreacting on how long I was gone—what was it, sixteen days?—but that's what I do!**

**Now, like always, I wish I could give you this whole song. It's just so beautiful - and from my favorite show, Hollywood Heights!  
**

* * *

_Would you blindly follow me-_

_When I'm going nowhere? _

_Would you keep your faith in me-_

_When I don't have a prayer?  
_

_You...have got this hold on me.  
_

_Don't wanna be set free.  
_

_So keep me safe and sound, right here with you.  
_

_You've got this hold on me.  
_

_And I am yours to keep.  
_

_We'll lock ourselves away from everything.  
_

_'Cause you've got this hold on me.  
_

_-You've Got this Hold on Me, by Cassidy Ford_

* * *

_**D9- 15- (Artemis Nightheart)**  
_

Sunlight leaks into my vision as I open my eyes. The cold, crisp air fills my lungs and I start to shiver as soon as I'm fully awake. I clench my jaw tight at the sudden change in weather, aggravated of the changes left and right and the awful-tasting little bottles of juice—the same we were sent yesterday—that are continuously thumping at my feet. One after the other as soon as I sit up until there are ten different colors of the things.

"Arte…what are you doing?" Addelynn groaningly complains as she sits up with a stretch. She yawns and then looks at the bottles. "Ugh. I don't want those stupid things right now, Aaron! Send them to _Max_."

The way she says "Max," so full of disgust, hatred, and a hint of terror—she must be hiding something a little more about the encounter she had with him the day she killed the Career, Collette. I frown at her and she spits in the grass, and then takes a sip of a red bottle of vile-tasting vomit that is trying to be passed as "liquid" to us. Actually, I'm not all that surprised I'm being sent barf-in-a-bottle. Madison hates Gray and I, after all.

"Ooh, cherry." Add rolls her eyes and dumps out the bottle.

I drink a "lemonade-flavored" one. "Ick."

Quietness settles over us like a thick, suffocating blanket then, and for a long, awkward time in which I pick at my grimy nails and examine the dead ends on my hair that have been there for as long as I can remember; we're not wealthy enough to go to a real haircutter's place and get our hair done properly. My mother just does it with her old cooking scissors that she never really uses anymore since her sister—who died a few years ago—got her new cooking scissors.

We both know what's coming soon. Very soon. It's almost the final eight. Usually around the final eight or final five is when even the deepest of alliances break up. Add and I will either split up at the next kill or at the next three kills, and then the next time we meet, there might be hesitation because of the slight closeness we've developed, but we'll be fighting to kill each other. And it'll be a showdown for sure, as all fights between ex-allies are.

Because almost one hundred percent of the time, allies get to know each other's strengths and weaknesses. Add will know just how to kill me, and I'm still missing the one piece that scares her, the one last piece of information that will lead me to the kill. The cruelty of this thought shocks me, but it's true, because I don't know her weaknesses, her strengths, or how to take her down. She was a perfect actress. She hid it all.

I need to break the Max story out of her. I need to use it.

I feel so wrong.

It's not like it's my first crime. It's not like I can't pull it off. I've been a master thief for quite some time and have only been caught once, and to be fair, I'm pretty sure I was just having a bad day that day. I'm a criminal mastermind, but even the greatest of masterminds, the strongest of crooks—they can't even succeed without that one last piece of information.

Before I can pry a word about it out of her mouth, Add says, "We both know what's coming, and you know it, Arty."

"So it goes from Art to Arty to Arte, huh?" I ask, trying to be lighthearted. The alliance and my chance isn't dead yet.

"Artemis. Listen to me." Again, that same calm and collected sternness that she's developed from years of raising kids shows. "We have to split up sometime. The question is: when is 'sometime'?"

"Can't we wait…just a bit longer?"

"The final five, Artemis. The final five is as late as we can go," Addelynn says as soon as I request the slight extension of our alliance.

"What if the final five happens tomorrow?"

"We split tomorrow then. Regroup. Hope we don't end up as the final two. Got me? I'm drawing the line at the final five. It's for your own good. It's for _my_ own good."

There's this new selfishness in her voice as she says the last sentence. The insistence in the word "my" is as strong in selfishness as when she says "Max" with distaste.

"Stay right where you are. I have a gun. A fully-loaded gun."

The words echo out of nowhere. Addelynn and I jump right up. I grab my knife and Addelynn grabs her bow, her sheath already over her back, as we turn in circles, looking for the owner of this voice. It's extremely familiar, and I think I know exactly from where.

The girl. She runs out from nowhere, just like her voice did, suddenly in the room with us, bringing in more chilly air than the open window did. It's the girl that tried to kill us, that injured us, and then apologized and nearly sobbed from fear. She has a gun. She darts past us, aiming, jumping—

Firing.

Boom! "Duck!" I scream. I fall to my feet on the ground. Add processes what's happened too late, and her knees are just about to hit the floor when a sickening noise permeates the dry air. Addelynn screams, a guttural, thick sound that makes me want to hurl as blood spills out of her stomach like water from a waterfall.

"I said stay still! Maybe then I might've given ya a fair fight, girlies," the girl snarls, and then she turns to me pointedly. She aims the barrel of her gun straight at my forehead. My breathing picks up in fear. "You."

"Yeah?" I ask sweetly, flipping back my hair. "How can I help you, ma'am?"

"By dyin'."

"Ooh, sorry, we ran out of that product yesterday. How about a little makeup—that face is getting just a little rusty, huh?" I smirk as the girl narrows her eyes. The odds when it's a bullet versus a knife are slim for the knife, so while I'm in the last moments of my life, I might as well have fun. If being tortured to death with slight sarcastic remarks to make it worse is fun, you know.

Then her eyes go soft again as Add lets out a whimper behind me.

The final five. The final five. I guess she won't make it.

Well, neither will the girl ahead of me.

I recognize the look in her eyes immediately. She looks down at the gun quizzically, sees me about to plunge a knife into her flesh, and tears burst out. Of the badass people in the world, she ranks in the top forty, until she cracks and I'm a step away from killing her. This time I will though. No mercy. Artemis the Thief. The Stealer of Lives.

"Please, please. Don't. Don't kill me!" the girl cries. Add whimpers behind me, and the small amount of sympathy I felt as soon as the words spilled out of the girl's mouth fades. A cannon fires and angry rushed through me.

Though I was plotting to kill her already, I wouldn't have known until now, now that she's gone, that her death would affect me so much. I almost feel like crumpling into a ball, and, not crying, staying there for hours. Days. Until I can go home and someone can hold me and tell me that I'm not a killer and that it wasn't real.

But until then, for this girl, I'm merciless.

"Do you know how these Games work?" I ask viciously, my mouth forming a snarl.

"Y-yes. B-but…"  
"No. No more buts!" With that, I flick my wrist and let the knife fly, a satisfying thunk as it hits the girl. Her cannon fires.

And now I'm just that other animal, that chess piece, that the Capitol will never stop using.

But I'm almost okay with that. If it's for revenge, if it's for Add's sake, I'm all for it.

**_D3- 14- (Myra De La Rosa) – Day Six_**

Drew wakes me up at noon, face bright but pale. He picks me up and tells me to close my eyes, so I do, happy to fall back asleep—_in his arms_, might I add. But his rough steps don't allow me to fall asleep, though I obediently keep my eyes closed anyway. It's weird—not being able to use my legs, and I hate being carried because of it, because I'm very aware of his rough steps.

I've heard of people back home with polio, as it was once called. The disease's original name—infantile paralysis—is what we in Panem call it now. This must be what it's like for the infantile paralysis victims whose legs never heal. Having them, seeing them, being able to feel them and feel with them, but not being able to use them in any shape or form than to let them dangle uselessly and rather embarrassingly.

Knowing they could be the death of you.

For me, knowing they _will_ be the death of me.

"Okay, open your eyes, little one," Drew says teasingly. I open my eyes, scowling at the thought of my stupid _legs _being the death of me. Or being handicapped forever back home if Drew and I make it to the end and he gives up his life for mine, which I seriously doubt he will, since all we've shared together as two people _together_ is a kiss and a night hand in hand.

I look around. There is a net draped tight between two trees and two large rocks sitting on each side, and food on the net. Drew sits me on one rock, then skirts to the other side and takes a side on the other. "Bon appétit," Drew says, "_whatever_ that means." He smirks. "No, actually, it's more like, happy eating bad food, Myra!"

The food looks…admittedly awful. It's some sort of slightly burnt meat on slightly burnt toasted bread with nice cheese protruding the sides and a bunch of ketchup oozing from the sides. It's half-Capitol, half-arena; a mostly-burnt sandwich that, because it's from the heart and it's very sweet—as sweet as you can get at times like these, in the arena and all—warms my heart.

"Aw. Thank you, Drew! If I didn't want to break this…'table,' I'd hug you." I smile at him and he shrugs. "May I dig in?" I ask.

"Of course," he says.

I smile, rolling my eyes, and pick up the sandwich. Though it looks utterly disgusting, I'm starving, so I'll eat it anyway. I eat it, and it's nearly flavorless with the exception the overwhelming taste of cheese, eggs, and ketchup. I try to swallow it, but my tongue refuses to relax so I can. I think I might barf if it stays in my mouth much longer…

Suddenly Drew shakes his head, spitting it out below our "table," out of my vision. I do the same once he's done and take out my canteen of water, gulping it down. Then I get out some berries Drew found before and eat them, knowing their edible from experience, meaning I ate some yesterday and I'm still fine. Sitting up, I lay out some of yesterday's berries and roasted rabbit.

"This'll be much, _much_ better," I say quietly.

Drew nods. "I am never cooking again," he declares with a triumphant look.

I laugh. "Please stick to that promise."

"I will, Miss De La Rosa."

Then we dine, chatting about home and our families and the silly little things our little sisters did and what they said about us, laughing and eating and mentally vowing to kill the other's little sister if we ever get back.

When we're done with our small festivities, delight in our mind and the other in our eyes, Drew carries me over to the clearing and we rest, hand in hand, far apart. It's cold, though. The wind is picking up speed and it's whipping at my face and everywhere on me. He notices this and scoots closer. I roll over, burying my face in his chest as he wraps his arms around me, fully and completely _too_ aware that _this isn't home_.

"I want to go home, Drew," I whisper, so quiet that even though I don't care if they hear or not, the Capitol won't be able to hear it. "I want to see Elliot and Cecelia and Luna and my mom and dad. I want to go _home_ and smell the factory-tainted air and curl up in bed with you holding my hand and then falling asleep. I want to be able to _walk_ when I wake up."

"I know. I know. Go to sleep."

Just as I'm starting to fall asleep, just as the Anthem is over, just as the girl from Six and the girl from Ten's memory fade into the oblivion, an announcement starts to play across the arena, loud and sure to wake any sleeping tributes, the voice of the Hunger Games ringing throughout the country along with the arena.

"Congratulations, tributes, for making it this far," the announcer, Makeo Contillez, says, and then pauses. Suddenly I realize that this is the final seven. The final eight happened today, too. My family is going to be doing a piece on me tomorrow for the final eight/seven interviews. "Tomorrow at sunset there will be a feast at the Cornucopia with everything you all need."

"Like they have legs," I mutter absently.

"Any of you who don't go…will be dead. Choose wisely."

And then the announcement is over, taking my life along with it.

**A/N: Remember to send in your reserved spots, people! If they're not in by the D2 reapings, unless I'm feeling extra nice, I could give your spots away…**

**By the way, I need your opinion—to soundtrack or not to soundtrack? **

**The tributes whose names are bold are alive:**

**D1- (Luxuries)**

Male- Kaiden Johnson 16. 22downwiththecapitol22

**Female- Hunter Blackthorne 17. Rikachan101**

**D2- (Masonry)**

**Male- Drake Flint 17. jblonde123**

Female- Collette Finch 16. jblonde123

**D3- (Technology)**

**Male- Andrew "Drew" Reox 16. CallingMeFakeWontMakeYouReal **

**Female- Myra De La Rosa 14. CallingMeFakeWontMakeYouReal **

**D4- (Fishing)**

Male- Ryan Melly 12. Bowserboy129.

Female- Blessia Fornbrex 17.

**D5- (Power) **

Male- Sam Ryans 12. goldie031

Female- Miracle Rawlins 13. goldie031

**D6- (Transportation)**

Male- Apollo Ephraim 14. Rikachan101

Female- Melanie/Aureliana Dove 15. CapitolRules

**D7- (Lumber)**

Male- Tasi Merkava 16. RockSolid

Female- Temari Hyuga 18. ladyyuuki16

**D8- (Textiles)**

Male- Colin Crowe 15. experiment15

Female- Sahra Lemo 14. Bowserboy129

**D9- (Grain)**

**Male- Gray Hager 18. Bowserboy129**

**Female- Artemis Nightheart 15. Rikachan101**

**D10- (Livestock)**

**Male- Maxmilian "Lion" Leone 18. CapitolRules**

Female- Addelynn Demetriu 18. iJustMightBeCrazy

**D11- (Agriculture)**

Male- Rogis Trakholm 17. blueyoshguy

Female- Roslynn Ellis 17. experiment15

**D12- (Mining)**

Male- Haver Grale 17. Bowserboy129

Female- Chaste Christensen 12. Araka-chan

**That is 7 out of 24! They are going _quick_! **

**Sorry if I killed your character. It had to be done. I mean, there is only one victor, right?**

**I'm going to miss Addelynn. Not that I won't miss them all. But I had plans for her family in the final eight interviews—HINT, HINT.**

**You don't get the hint? *face-palm* I'M GOING TO WRITE AND POST THE FINAL EIGHT INTERVIEWS! YAY!**


	28. Chapter 28: Preparation

**__A/N: Thought I'd give you a little teaser chapter since I haven't updated in a while. **

**Gray and Ryan remind me so much of Thomas and Chuck from The Maze Runner, I put Chuck instead of Ryan twice.  
**

**Anyway, next chapter is the feast! Get excited! Could it be the end? COULD THE VICTOR BE REVEALED? I don't know, because I haven't decided!  
**

**Technically, Drake's name shouldn't have been bold for the past two chapters, sorry... Yeah, Max killed him.  
**

**And today, our chapter song relates to the poor, lovesick president, President Attica Jacobson. I hate her...  
**

* * *

_Why, oh, why-_

_Do I justify-_

_What you did wrong to me?_

_You're love drunk, you're blinded, you've lost the ones who love you most_

_This liar's on fire_

_Melted like wax _

_A mess it grows_

_And you're the one that chose and that's just how karma goes_

_—A Mess It Grows by He is We_

* * *

**_D9- 18- (Gray Hager) –Day Seven_**

I trudge along the icy snow in the Ring of Whatever, heading towards the door. Though this will be the time for me to get revenge and in some sick way I should be thrilled, I'm really not that happy whatsoever. I had it going good, slowly rotting away, abandoned, and shivering in a snow pile. I don't know if I want to die. I know Gray didn't. But Gray's not here anymore, and neither is his old ally Ryan. They both died a while back, leaving behind a misunderstood, angry, weird, misfit psycho.

I start to drift off into my realm of thought and end up tripping on a rock. I land on my knee and wince. I get back up and go on.

It's a tedious cycle—falling is. It reminds me far too much of moving on. But in the Games, you _don't_ move on. You say horribly entitled to this world of anger and pain that makes you want to scream, but you've also got this crazy, unwanted, animalistic sixth sense to survive at all costs, even when your heart and mind is telling you that you need to die. That it's time to move on to a new life in the afterlife—or whatever comes next. That though there are people waiting on you to give them a 'hello, again' hug, you aren't meant to be here and you need to go. That you're going crazy and it's time to succumb to the insanity and die fitfully and awfully.

Going down with a fight even when you want so desperately to give in.

People look up to the victors. Now that I'm so close to being one, I realize they shouldn't. We can't help that we don't back down; it's in our nature. If we could, almost all of us would shrivel up and be cowards, finally giving up. Some of us just don't care. And some of us would fight back. But most of us—us tributes/victors—would bow down and let what happens happen.

I wish I could. I so heavily wish I could that ever since Day Five I've been coming very close to just going to the castle and lying on my stomach, waiting for someone to come along and pick me off, merciful or not. I don't think I am able to do that though. My heart is too sore and my mind is too numb to change a damn thing about the way things are and the way things always will be. This must be how it feels for almost all of them.

Why do people promise their family members to win? It's awful. If we die, our families can move on, work themselves to the core, drowning in being busy until the pain finally mostly subsides and they can go on with their daily lives almost like usual. But if we win, we will always be haunted and crazy and _know_, with all our sore hearts and numb minds, that we left ourselves back in the arena and brought back someone that shouldn't hold the name of the person who entered the Games. We're entirely different people, still living all the deaths, none of them are own, and being so utterly haunted by it that it hurts. It physically _hurts_. It works us up and we get so tired and numb and angry and sad that it starts to hurt, more and more every day. And I know it _must_ be worse than that because I'm saying this as a tribute. If I won—if I re-said that as a victor—it would be hopeless. I would sound lifeless and cruel. And blunt. Because no one—_no one_—doubts what a victor says about the Games.

I can see the door just mere twenty or thirty yards away. I trudge more.

"I've seen feasts on television," I say, talking to myself and the invisible cameras. They're on me now that I've started to ramble out loud in my pessimistic insanity. "I've never actually wondered what it's like to be in one though. I kind of am glad. It gives me a chance to kill the Careers. For some reason, I just think they're responsible, you know? But I'm worried too. I'm not ready to die yet. _Ryan_'s not ready. Wherever the hell he is, I just know he wants me to make it a little further. I don't know if I could win though. It might hurt too much."

A sponsor gift floats down. Suddenly I realize this is my first. I tear it open as I walk.

It's a gun.

I know it could save my life, but I throw out the gun. I throw it out and kick snow over it and then collapse, taking my knife and throwing it in the snow as if it could stick and make the satisfying, angered _thunk_ sound that I need to get back up and tell myself not to start weeping.

I realize I haven't cried for Ryan. I _don't_ cry, but usually even the males in Games I've seen when they've lost someone close to the Games, they cry a little bit when they don't go berserk.

"That really helps," I burst out. "A _gun_. Well, I guess I can't blame anyone. You weren't there for training."

I leave it at that.

More trudging. It seems that there's a _lot_ of trudging.

Eventually after avoiding icy lakes, snow banks that would be hard to get out of, and dark _holes_, I make it to the open door. It is a couple feet away when the door rapidly starts closing. I sigh, not really caring much for this "dramatic turn of events" and sprint, slipping through with ease, the door closing behind me. I don't bend over and pant. I don't have a wide-eyed, terrified gaze. I just keep on trudging. Daylight doesn't last forever.

Neither does the wait for nightfall.

For the finale.

**_D1- 17- (Hunter Blackthorne) - Afternoon, not long until DAYBREAK_**

The Cornucopia is all to me now, ever since Drake died and Max left. I'm waiting, rather impatiently, for the time to come when all the tributes will pile into this giant room of the castle - the Cornucopia Room, as I call it - and the feast will begin. I watch the open door to the castle obsessively, longing for a tribute to enter and fight me, longing for six to come in and fight me.

"Hunter."

I turn around at his voice, the voice of the person who killed two people in our alliance while we were in an alliance. He'd left two days ago, his eyes glazed over and mad, insane, crazy. He was getting progresseively worse and worse, drifting farther and farther into the brink of madness. No doubt he's finally fallen off the deep end, and his compassion must've been joined at the hip with his sanity, because not only do his eyes hold craziness of epic proportions, but they also hold this evil, heartless bloodthirstiness you'd never see unless in person. It's worse than a normal Career's. Not even Luko from last year held this much insanity when he went in the Games or died in them.

"What're you doing here, Max? I'm not fighting you until the feast," I say dismissively.

"I want to reform our alliance."

I raise my eyebrows as soon as the last syllable of "alliance" falls out of his mouth, incredulous. Me, the girl who barely ever trained with them or showed any true dedication to the Careers. Me, the person who he hated and ridiculed (but I never did mind his antics; it was actually amusing to see him get frustrated when I never showed any emotion). Why would he want to regain an alliance with _me_ on what could possibly be the last day in the arena? I find that there is no answer to this - or I don't have one, at least.

"Er...why, if I may ask, Master Max?" I ask tentatively. I'm not stepping into anything at all, but I do want to know why he wants me in an alliance. In my still slightly ill state, the thought that he might need my protection doesn't occur to me.

"It's _Lion_, as always, Hunter. And you're valuable. You're a fighter. This will be _so_ much easier if the two strongest fighters ever to enter this arena worked together to wipe the others out, and then turned on each other," he explains sincerely, but I can just see the way his lip curls in a snarl like he's a rabid animal who wants to eat me. "So what do you say?"

I consider this. It's not like we're going to be best buds or side-by-side or anything. He just wants it so we don't kill each other during the feast, and then it's over. Then we kill each other. Well, it makes this a little less stressful, and it's not like I'm not going to watching my back around him anyway...so...why not?

"Whatever," I agree bitterly. "Allies yet again."

"Yup."

He sits down and grabs a small backpack from the Cornucopia. He unzips it, looks insides, and pulls out a green apple. It's browning and has a worm crawling on it, so he stands up and throws it at the wall with all his might. It hits with a _thud, _and then falls with another. I roll my eyes as he wiggles his eyebrows at me. "Like that, babe?"

"Shut up." I pick at dried fruit from a suitcase I opened yesterday. "Find dry fruit."

"Don't tell me what to do." He sighs angrily.

"Let's not fight, Max."

"Lion. _Lion_."

"Let's not fight, _Lion._"_  
_

Max sits back and digs through a suitcase until he finds a blanket, and then he searches through another for a pillow. He curls up and disappears under the comforter, no doubt gripping the sword and ready to pounce on me at any second. So I get up, but I go far away from where Max is resting and go up the stairs that Collette died on. I step up them, and start to explore. I look down the whole time, waiting to see the familiar blood stain. But I never find it, and eventually I just give up and quietly go down the carpeted stairs.

"Hey, it's getting dark, Hunter!" I hear Max call. "People are going to be getting here soon."

"Coming," I report absently. Putting one foot after the other, I slowly make my way down the stairs.

"Hurry."

I roll my eyes and listen to the thumps of my feet each hitting a stairstep with every footstep. Finally after two short more flights, I find myself in the giant Cornucopia Room again. Max looks at me expectantly, like I have something he wants. Maybe it's just impatience. I saunter on by him with a flip of my hair, because I know he wants to be leader, and I need to show him that we're equal in this fight today, in this feast. It's just kind of important.

I sigh as I sit down, seeing that, like always, Max is in his own little freaky world. I wonder what he's thinking about, whether it's the victory that is suddenly so available that I want to take hold of it myself and cling to it, or if it's the many ways he could kill our opponents.

_Ha, _our _opponents,_ I think. _Yeah, right._

They're the victor's opponents. If I die, it doesn't matter who I kill. All my kills, every single person - they'll have been the _victor's_ opponents. The thought is just merely something to keep me going and ready for the kills, keeps me motivated to win. I'm dead-tired, frustrated, and really want to curl up into a ball under the blanket Max previously "slept" under, just to get some rest. And when I wake up, I want it to be to trumpets blaring over loudspeakers, announcing that I, Hunter Blackthorne, am the victor of the One Hundred Fifty-first Annual Hunger Games. I want it to be me.

I want to go home. I'm starting to get homesick. After all, it's been my family's dream all these years that I win, not mine. I want to die fulfilling something _I_ wish upon me, not what they force down my throat. Though honestly, training is kind of entertaining, a good stress reliever, and helps me take out the anger I inherited from my family on an inanimate object. It's really a win-win deal.

Unless I die, that is.

**_D9- 15- (Artemis Nightheart) - Evening, nearly to the time of the FEAST_**

Addelynn would want me to go. Addelynn would be going. Should I be asking myself what Addelynn wants? I don't know. It just seems wrong to let her go, but it also seems wrong to ask what she'd do. She's dead, after all. Shouldn't her wishes stay private? Shouldn't I be putting suspense about my dead ally out there so that the Capitol _wishes_ they hadn't reaped her for these Games, but next year's, so she could win? Shouldn't I make them feel sick to their stomachs because they didn't find a way to save this girl who made you hang on to her every last word?

I don't know. Addelynn always did all the thinking, now that I look back at our time as allies.

I mean, would it hurt? Maybe. They could think I'm being rebellious and then kill me. But they could also think I'm just trying to be brave as I can be and save me.

It's all so confusing, and the confusion hurts. It literally hurts to be so lost and confused that I don't know what to do and I'm just sitting in a loop.

Obviously I have to go. They'll kill me if I don't.

But won't I die if I do go?

And I can't get this stupid question out of my head either, one that Addelynn _would not_ approve of: _What would've happened if I hadn't have ducked?_

But I have family too, and I can't abandon them. So did Add though. What will happen to her kids? Will they be put in the wretched Community Homes of District Ten? I always feel so bad for the poor orphan kids at the Community Home. If you think we don't get enough to eat if you're regular in the district, it's ten times worse there. There's not enough tax money for the Peacekeepers and the headmistresses to pay for the kids' pay in Nine, and Nine is slightly more well-off than Ten. It must be hell for those children right now.

I finally decide that I need to hide in a different room when I hear footsteps outside of the room I'm in. I peer out of the room's small window that leads out to the hallway and then jerk back immediately. I don't know why I expected it to be Gray and for him and I to join sides for today, but when I see it's a Career, I stifle a gasp. Is she trying to kill us all off already? I shiver absently, mainly because of the gust of wind that comes through the window, and a little because of the Career's deadly presence. I haven't been this close to one since the bloodbath.

I curl up into a ball until I hear her going down the stairs. Still, I decide to wait a while longer before I quietly tiptoe out of my room, up a flight of stairs, and to a new bedroom. I lie in the windowless room's bed as soon as I enter the room, and try to get a wink of rest before the feast, but my eyes never close and sleep never comes. I frown, and then decide to just think.

It's weird how different Careers and non-Careers are. We live in entirely different worlds and think entirely different things and know entirely different obstacles, and yet, we're all human beings who ache for one goal: to win the Games. We all strive and train - even if we only train in the Training Center, for us non-Careers - and hope and wish and dream that we will win. We have our own issues and terrors and opponents. We have our tries and our fails and our successes - and they're all different.

But we're all people, all the same, who want to win. Who ache so wholeheartedly to win. Who do wrongs or at least imply that we might have done wrongs if we hadn't died first to win.

We're all little pawns in these Games, so easily killed. All but one of us are expendable, useless, time-wasting fools who dream but never succeed. I guess we aren't so different in that way.

But our aspects on the world are so different it's not even funny. At least the world of the Games and the Capitol, that is.

I sigh and bury my face in the rose-scented pink pillow, wondering how the Capitol managed to keep a pillow, of all things, smelling pretty in this hellhole. I shake my head and still try more to sleep, but it never works. I'm tired, but I'm also so energized that I could be bouncing off walls if I wasn't so nervous and worried.

We all know this could be it. Feasts are almost always finales. They're usually the end, or at least, if they're not the end, they produce the final three.

It's safe to say I'm not looking forward to this.

_**CAPITOL POV**_

Attica watched the Games play out on her high-tech flatscreen. For the first time in a while, she genuinely smiled. She was proud of her idea to have a feast.

She would have loved to be a Gamemaker. The idea was always so appealing to her. So how did she end up as the foolish old president, rarely able to leave her own home for fear of assassination? How did she become so vulnerable when she was once so strong? How did she, of all people, lose everyone she loved and gain the greatest power of all time, and therefore being unable to grieve for her losses? How, how, _how__?_

She wanted to cry. But that would make the president of Panem weak, and the president of Panem couldn't be weak, not if she wanted to stay alive. Even the president could be easily targeted and killed if she showed weaknesses, and she knew it. But it hurt to not let all the pain and anguish and hatred out; it hurt to know that for every second of every day, she was vulnerable of being seen physically and mentally _hurting. _And she wanted all that to end. But if she resigned...wasn't she dead for sure? Who would take over this country? She had to make sure things went as they always had from the day Panem's twelfth president, President Theodore Michaels, made the Games; from the day Coriolanus Snow took over and wreaked havoc among the districts, only to calm it down, kill a few people, and get it in line whenever he pleased, for he was a true genius; from the day her grandfather took over for his dead predecessor, Snow, and ran things effectively, but did nothing extraordinary like Snow and Michaels.

And she was nothing compared to them. Nothing. _Nothing._

_If only..._ There were so many ways to end that sentence that she didn't even try.

"Miss Jacobson." It wasn't the voice of the Head Gamemaker's. _I'll just have to show this person to only send Marco in, _she thought.

"Come in," she growled.

The man came in, bearing a folder with paperwork, or so she assumed. She grumbled about the paperwork for a moment, but then just nodded, dismissing him.

"May I sit down, miss?" asked the Gamemaker kindly. She didn't look up. "We need to discuss what we'll do with Hunter, miss."

"Sit, then, you idiot!" she roared, and turned so she wasn't facing the man. She smirked as a speech formed in her head, the type of speech she loved giving people she'd just met who worked for her. It was a speech that would most likely terrify him. This speech never terrified Julius, who she met on a day when she was extra bitter, before she became president. It never scared Marco either.

"I told you fools to never send in anyone but Marco, even if it was the biggest emergency of all time," she began honestly, hissing her words menacingly. She turned around and looked the man up and down, and then softened her facial expression, but left a slightly dark look in her eyes. "What's your name?"

The man gulped. "Azro Littleton."

"Azro. That's a good name, Azro," she said. He was about the same ager as her, with chocolaty brown hair with red and black streaks. His eyes were a dark gray and his skin was tanned. It might've been a spray tan, but it was a good one, because Attica couldn't tell. He was almost cute. She decided, like the girl who was still living in her teenage years that she was, to lay it easy on him. "What do you need?" she growled.

"We need to inform her stylist if she is to or is to not have any work done on her," said Azro.

Attica glanced at Hunter on the screens, flipping her hair as she walked past Maxmilian. Her hair was in disarray, her eyes still ill-looking, her body just as full as always, and her skin tanner. For the most part, she looked exactly as Attica expected her to - perfectly imperfect, exactly what the men in the Capitol want of a new, young, vicious Career victor. Of course, Blessia was the perfect of what they wanted, but there was nothing in the world that could have made Attica choose Blessia as a victor.

"Just...highlights and a hair trimming. No more." Attica sighed. "One more thing Azro."

"Yes?"

She grinned evilly.

"End the Games. Today."

**A/N: Bwahahaahahaaha. You all are lucky I don't think like Attica or they'd all be dead right now.  
**

**The tributes whose names are bold are alive:**

**D1- (Luxuries)**

Male- Kaiden Johnson 16. 22downwiththecapitol22

**Female- Hunter Blackthorne 17. Rikachan101**

**D2- (Masonry)**

Male- Drake Flint 17. jblonde123

Female- Collette Finch 16. jblonde123

**D3- (Technology)**

**Male- Andrew "Drew" Reox 16. CallingMeFakeWontMakeYouReal **

**Female- Myra De La Rosa 14. CallingMeFakeWontMakeYouReal **

**D4- (Fishing)**

Male- Ryan Melly 12. Bowserboy129.

Female- Blessia Fornbrex 17.

**D5- (Power) **

Male- Sam Ryans 12. goldie031

Female- Miracle Rawlins 13. goldie031

**D6- (Transportation)**

Male- Apollo Ephraim 14. Rikachan101

Female- Melanie/Aureliana Dove 15. CapitolRules

**D7- (Lumber)**

Male- Tasi Merkava 16. RockSolid

Female- Temari Hyuga 18. ladyyuuki16

**D8- (Textiles)**

Male- Colin Crowe 15. experiment15

Female- Sahra Lemo 14. Bowserboy129

**D9- (Grain)**

**Male- Gray Hager 18. Bowserboy129**

**Female- Artemis Nightheart 15. Rikachan101**

**D10- (Livestock)**

**Male- Maxmilian "Lion" Leone 18. CapitolRules**

Female- Addelynn Demetriu 18. iJustMightBeCrazy

**D11- (Agriculture)**

Male- Rogis Trakholm 17. blueyoshguy

Female- Roslynn Ellis 17. experiment15

**D12- (Mining)**

Male- Haver Grale 17. Bowserboy129

Female- Chaste Christensen 12. Araka-chan

**That is 7 out of 24! They are going _quick_! **

**Sorry if I killed your character. It had to be done. I mean, there is only one victor, right?**

**FEAST. TOMORROW. GAMES END SOON. GAH.  
**


	29. Chapter 29: Swim

**A/N: This may or may not be the last chapter.**

**_D3- 16- (Drew Reox)_**_** – Day Seven**_

A thorn pokes me like a needle.

Myra and I are in a rosebush just outside the castle, because I was an idiot and decided, "Hmm. Roses are nice! Let's sit in one of their bushes, eh?"

Myra squeaks, and I supposed one snagged her just now too. Her eyes widen and I cup my hand over her mouth. We wait. She grips a knife. I grip one too. When no one comes, I sigh and see that the light is fading. It's probably time to get inside. I'm afraid to see what might happen if we don't. So as I begin to pull a thorn or two out of my skin, blood dripping from where they were, I hear creaking.

Creaking like the sound of two giant doors spreading wide open.

I freeze and peek out of our hiding spot. No one is near the door, though I do see a lone tribute looking at the door, confused. He shrugs and stands up, jogging towards the castle. Next is a girl probably my age. And then it's our turn to get in there. I can hear the creaks squealing again and know that the doors must be closing. Despite that I know it will hurt, I muster up some adrenaline and yank Myra out of the bush and then stand up myself, barely containing a yelp as a thorn cuts into me. I look down and see a long but probably not thick gash with an oozing line of blood. I look away and pick Myra up, carrying her in the castle just as the doors shut and I hear the buzz of tracker jackers go away from behind me.

Before me is a fight. The boy from Ten is fighting the boy from—uh—Nine or Eleven, maybe? And the only Career girl left is fighting the girl who came in after the boy—the one that's probably my age.

No one notices us. At first.

I take a knife and run to the Cornucopia. Myra is still sitting by the door, hopefully unnoticed.

I'm spotted nearly immediately. The boy from Ten leaves his opponent and quickly swipes his sword at me, gashing into my arm that the roses' thorns didn't get very badly. I clench my teeth and step back, trying to inch towards a sword myself. But when the boy who the boy with the sword comes after me nearly stabs me in the back and I have to duck to get away from the Ten boy's sword, I decide I'll have to kill one of them with my knife now. I can't fight two people.

"Hunter!" the boy from Ten calls out. "Handle the weird one in the corner."

I narrow my eyes and watch as the now-opponent-free girl comes towards me, and then my eyes widen. But before she can attack, the boy from Ten pounces at his previous opponent and I let out a sigh, but then I realize a Career is heading after Myra. I dodge a knife the girl before me throws and sprint over to Myra, who is rolling out of the way of knives and badly throwing some at the Career.

"Myra!" I yell.

"Drew," she squeaks as a knife enters her stomach. My heart stops for a second, but I don't have time to think about it before the Career is approaching me.

"Hang in there, Myra," I call out to her, and then fall into battle; swinging and throwing and dodging.

But then a cannon fires. I look around and see the girl and the two boys engaged in battle.

That's it. She's dead.

_**D9- 18- (Gray Hager) – Day Seven**_

I'm cornered. Artemis is gaining on me, and the boy from Ten _is_ on me. I'm not even sure if Artemis is fighting for or against me, but I take out my gun—I almost just throw it at the Cornucopia pile, too—and shoot her in the foot. She cries out and it gives me time to knee Ten where the sun doesn't shine and throw my gun out. It's not a fair fight that way, in my opinion, and as much as I want to win, these people want to too, and guns defeat all else.

"You little asshole!" Ten calls out, though I am only barely shorter than he is. "You're going to—"

Another cannon fills the room and I turn and see the boy from Three's body lying next to his girlfriend's, still and silent, as the Career comes back over. I sigh and take a sword while Ten is regaining his composure. Artemis is still clutching and trying to bandage her foot quickly as she dodges knives from the Career girl. It's obvious Ten and Hunter have partnered up.

"Artemis!" I call out as my sword clashes with Ten's. "Artemis!"

She says nothing, so instead of doing something stupid and dangerous, I continue to fight with Ten. He's good with the sword, while I'm not. After a moment I give up on it and remember my hand axe. I take it out and back away. Ten closes in on me, but slowly, like any killer would in any Capitol drama. And like any underdog would in any Capitol drama, I throw the axe.

And it doesn't kill him.

Weaponless—as my axe is now across the room—I scramble backwards and take out a knife. I jump up and his sword digs deep into my leg. I drive a knife into his leg and he screams a loud and piercingly. Then he, with a bloodthirsty, murderous look in his eyes, glares down at me and rips the sword out of my leg. I get up and stagger back, only to fall back and trip over a backpack.

Next to me is the sword I threw back. I pick it up and am only barely able to defend Ten's sword's next hit as it falls down and he attempts to drive it into my flesh. I nearly let out a sigh but hold it back, for anything right now but emotionlessness shows weakness, and weakness makes the killer feel a strong sense of power, and power makes them strike harder.

And I can barely hold him off as it is.

There are no axes near me. I have a measly sword that I can only moderately—probably even less from Ten's perspective—use, and I'm down. It's harder to fight the one standing up than the one lying down. And he is up, while his sword is down; and I am down, while my sword is up. We both want the same things: to kill the other.

And only one deep, ringing voice keeps me from collapsing and screaming, "Kill me!"

It's Ryan's. I keep hearing his last words: the Death Room chant. "We're out! We're out of the Death Room! Out of the Death Room! Out! Out! Out! Everything's bright, no moans heard!"

_No, buddy,_ I think. _We're not out yet._

_**D1- 17- (Hunter Blackthorne) – Day Seven**_

"You can't win," I snarl through gritted teeth.

The girl in front of me goofily rolls her eyes and hisses back, "Bite me."

"Darling, I suppose you never really got the chance to learn comebacks, did you?" I roll my eyes and attempt to plunge a knife into his heart, but she ducks and jumps back. "I could've guessed that one if I didn't understand what words even mean."

"Mm," the girl says. "I see."

She's smaller than me—much smaller. And her face is hard and strict, but you can tell she still holds some innocence that no Careers ever have and certainly no victors do, as non-Career victors are always scarred; you can see it in their sunken eyes that don't hold the smile like their lips do. She has that look, but more innocent. And she's afraid. She looks terrified.

Because she's engaged in battle with a well-trained Career and there's no way anyone like her—so small and fragile and hungry—could ever beat us.

I know this isn't true. There have been times when weak, powerless, untrained, clumsy non-Career tributes have outdone us Careers in so many ways and have won. For example, last year—Scotty Nelson beat the Careers and her final competitor was the male from Four, who she outwitted and managed to plant a knife in her opponent's heart, but he took off one of her arms.

You win some, you lose some.

I have to win the Games. If I die because the Capitol hates me for victor, I will die knowing that I did everything in my power to get back home to my family and I did it all correctly to give them the pride they so craved that would come only from me winning. And though I've never approve of their main interest in me being the possibility of being able to say, "I'm the parent of a victor," I do love them and I know they love me, so I want to give them this, even though I hate the Capitol and the Games. Even though if I had a die-in-a-hole list, the Capitol and the Games would be in my top fifteen or twenty.

As we fight on, metal on metal, metal to flesh, and other combinations, I start to think about if I did win. I suppose I'll live peacefully in the Victors' Village with my family for a year or two until I'm old enough that I decide I want to live alone. But then what? And what else? What will be my "thing"? What will I do in my spare time? What goal will I hold myself to?

I realize how empty the world is without being angry with my parents and training. What else had I ever done?

When I get home, though, I know the first thing I will do, the first words that aren't "Hello"s or "Thank you"s that will come out of my mouth. "I forgive you," I will say to Rika. I miss her now, and I know I will continue missing her until I reach District One again. I guess when I get home, we can have our sword fights and she can fill me in on the drama in school and we can talk and laugh and be friends again. We can grow back together and I can finally get over my anger.

If I wasn't clutching the knife with my real hand, I'd grip my token—the locket with the picture of young Rika and I.

I'm _so_ close to being there! I never thought I'd make it this far, but other than idiotic, cocky Careers—other than, supposedly, me—who does? I'd said goodbye and given up long before now, and yet, here I am, in the final four, fighting for my life and winning because my opponent is small and young and grips to the innocence that will in the end be a liability like a vise.

My opponent squawks as I throw a knife into forehead; she cries out and pulls the small-bladed weapon out of her skin and throws it down. Then I throw another knife at her heart, and she, expecting it, dodges and rips off her jacket's flimsy sleeve. Before she can bandage the wound on her forehead that I gave her, I throw another knife, and there's so much blood in her eye and all over her face that she can't dodge very well and it lodges itself in her elbow area. She cries out again and slips the piece of her sleeve around her forehead, then wipes her eyes just as I get out more knives.

She's quick on her feet to throw a knife I'm not expecting and, though it has bad aim and if I weren't digging through a pack I could easily avoid it, she manages to have it land in my fake arm, right where my wrist would be, at the vein. I have to admit, Rika really saved me there. And I also have to admit that that's a good shot for an amateur thrower.

But there's this one little problem for her. The arm she hit is prosthetic.

I repeat that. "Prosthetic," I tell her, and I can tell that her heart sinks as I do so.

"Prosthetic," she repeats.

I nod. "That's what it's called, darling."

Her foot and head wounded, her heart broken, and her hopes low, she gets more knives and comes at me. She's exactly where I want her: broken and not easily repaired.

I throw several knives at her, all of which she misses, and then we're face-to-face—there's no backing down here. She, tired-eyed and hopeless-looking, looks up at me as I look down on her, and I raise my knife to send it straight down into her neck, ending her once and for all.

So I do. But she's small and quick, so she gets down just in time for the knife to go down in her eye instead of her throat, and I can feel her knife plunging straight up and into my heart. Pain shoots through me as my nerve system sends messages up my spinal cord screaming, "Something's wrong, something's wrong! Shut it all down! Pain! No blood… Heart gone…"

And that's exactly what I'm thinking. I barely feel myself collapse as the world shuts out and I'm enveloped in blackness, and just before I die, my life flashes before my eyes.

And I wasted it all, without truthfully knowing it, on this.

I wasted it on my death.

_**D9- 15- (Artemis Nightheart) – Day Seven**_

I stare blankly at the dead body with my one good eye as a cannon sounds. Pain shoots through me and I absently stagger to the Cornucopia, where I am tempted to pass out. I stupidly take out the small knife from my eye and close my good one as blood seeps into my mouth.

It's so unbearable and my head starts to ache. I feel a blackout coming on when I feel three taps on my head. I wince and see a hand is sticking out to me. I grab it and someone helps me stand up, gives me a knife. They tell me to do something, but it doesn't quite register. They say it again, but this time as soon as they say it, they dart ahead and a scream pierces in the air; it sounds like it might belong to the person who was telling me to do something.

Suddenly the pieces form together. "Gray," I mutter, and pick up the axe he requested. "Gray!" I hand him the axe when he inches back to me, steady and slow. I don't understand what sort of invisible mutt he is fighting until my vision clears and I can see that his opponent is Max, Addelynn's district partner. I remember how afraid she was of him.

"Gray," I mumble out, "he's dangerous. Add-Addelynn was scared." I remember how Add didn't get scared but am forgetting a lot else. I know this is one of my blackouts, so I drag myself back to the Cornucopia and hide, and almost as soon as I do, the pounding ache overwhelms me and drags me under to the land of darkness and pain and nightmares, the relentless place that I dread and fear and visit so often and wish I never did.

In my dream, my sisters are the two boys who were fighting in my consciousness. Mithra is the scary boy who must die, and Eva is Gray, who I can temporarily trust. I watch as they try to kill each other, and when I try to break them up, I just pass right through them. There's a dream-me, too, who is watching them and encouraging Eva, and I can feel dream-me's fear. It's frightening to half-feel such pure hatred and terror towards someone I love and miss with all my heart, someone I'd do anything for.

"Come _on_, Eva," dream-me chants. "You have to do this! You have to…to win."

Mithra snarls at dream-me, and the real me jumps in my dream, as I am surprised at her. Mithra would never snarl. Mithra is happy and sweet and cheerful and not deadly or scary or hateful and never, _ever_, _ever_ snarl. I let out a gasp and she hears something from me for once. Mithra and Eva's weapons disappear and they turn towards me, their menacing little gazes directed at me, ready to kill me.

My head whirls as they approach me, thinking about what terrors will await me in what they do to me.

It turns out, they beat me with their fists, and sharp pains like knives in my forehead and eyes permeate my dream wall, even though both of them are weapon-free. I know the pain comes from outside of my dream and is only leaking in, which only makes the dream so much more real and scary. I know I must kill the girls to end the dream and wake up, because that's usually when I wake up: after doing something sickening and awful that I wish would just disappears before I went through with it.

They grin at me, their faces small but full of terror-inducing evilness, and I wince as Eva screams obscenities at me. She wasn't even the scary boy; she was Gray! So how could she betray me so, even in dream form? Behind them, dream-me now cheers both of them on, and dream-me begins to transform. She transforms into a wolf-like creature, and I can smell her breath, heavy with the scent of blood, all the way across the castle room.

I imagine a knife in my hands, and one pops up. Then I slowly—for it won't go in quick enough—drive the knife into Mithra's heart, and then into Eva's.

I wake with a start and the pain that was dulled in my dream hits me with full force and I feel like I almost might black out about, but this time from pain and not a massive headache. I look around and see Gray and Scary-Boy are still battling it out, more and more wounds developing by the second; it seems that soon they may both just collapse from the pain just like I want to. I wish they would. It means I could rest until they got up.

"I forgot about that one!" I hear Scary-Boy shriek, a malicious grin on his face as he approaches me. He picks up a spear along the way and keeps his gaze locked on mine. I keep mine as rebellious as possible, but everything hurts so much that it's hard to focus on just doing that one simple task. "Oh, little chick," he growls. "Say goodbye!"

The glee in his voice is scary.

He throws the spear at my stomach. I grip it and then, with all my might, not thinking properly, yank it out and watch as blood spurts out of the wound. It's disgusting and I feel myself starting to faint, words I haven't comprehended that Gray screamed as I yanked out the spear bouncing around in my head. "Artemis, no!" "Artemis, no!" "Artemis, no!"

His face was grim, his eyes saddened, and his face red as I unleashed the blood from my stomach wound. I start to feel queasy and lightheaded. I realize now that he was trying to get me to keep the spear in. Had I done so, the blood wouldn't have flowed and I'd still be alive and hurting.

It's nice to say goodbye to the pain, but hard to say goodbye to the world.

_**D10- 18- (Maxmilian Leone) – Day Seven**_

Gray. His name must be Gray.

Gray finally has an axe again, which isn't anything. I can still beat him—easily. He's weak and I'm strong; he's inexperienced and I'm pretty well trained; he's beatable and I'm undefeatable. I am going to win these Games. He is my last kill, my last obstacle, and the only thing keeping me from winning these Games here and now. I hate him for restricting the crown from falling from the skies and down on me as the world cheers. I hate him for still being alive. He must die. He must suffer.

I glare at him and he glares back. I jab my weapon at him, but he dodges and throws his at mine. I dodge and he takes out a knife. He throws it at me and then dives for another axe, but this time he also gets a trident for some reason. We jab our weapons at each other, earning deep gashes and not so deep scratches. We both seem to weaken after a bit, but I know that I am not weakening as much as he is, for I am stronger than him, and as long as that remains true—and it always, always will—I will win. So I will always, always win these Games and my adoring fans will always, always cheer and I'll always, always remind them that it was nothing and that I am dominant, that I rule all, and everyone should always, always fear me because I am big and strong and mighty.

"You're going to die now, _Gray_," I snarl at my final kill. Because that's all he is, was, and ever will be: Maxmilian Leone's final kill. He is the blood on my sword and the body at the end of it; he is the completion of the Games and the person no one will remember except to say that he was the one who made me even more glorious than I ever was.

I am the big one. I am the powerful one. I will kill the world if I have to. I will rule it.

It's all about me. I am everything and nothing but so much more than nothing in a small, empty way. I am the not-dead one—that's my nothing. I am the living one—that's my everything. I am the entirety to this world and I complete it and without me nothing is right and lives will end and people will cry and beg that Gray brings me back, but he won't be able to, and they will kill him for killing me, and I will watch from wherever you go after you die and laugh at him for being so foolish. I understand his need to put up a fight, but in the end, he must know that I have to and will win, right?

"In your sickest, evilest dreams—yes, I will die in those," he replies arrogantly. "But it looks like you won't have anymore dreams, huh, Ten?"

"It's Lion," I correct him, sending my sword into his collarbone. His jaw tightens with pain, but then loosens.

"Wow, to have such a name, your parents must _hate_ you!" Gray begins to chuckle.

I tuck the tip of my sword under his chin warningly, and I know I've got him. This is it. It's my victory!

"You don't talk about my parents, buddy," I growl. "You don't _ever_."

"Mm," he voices, and then he slips into the sword, letting his body fall. But just before the sword fatally cuts him, he kicks me, and I am so surprised that I fall back and my sword clatters uselessly, helplessly, to the ground.

**_D9- 18- (Gray Hager) – Day Seven_**

He killed her. He killed my last ally, the sweet, small, soft-eyed girl whom I hated and who hated me, but in the end we fought together for a measly moment, and he killed her—killed her before I ever got to thank her for placing the axe in my hand when she so badly hurt. Her body was so mangled and her eye so bloody and ugly that anyone with a squeamish stomach would've vomited, but she was Artemis, so I didn't.

I still don't like her. Never did. But we were allies. Allies save one another. And I stood and watched, just as I did when Ryan die, and it hurts to think that I indirectly killed them, along with the many I directly killed, when they were the only ones I trusted in here. They kept me going like no one else I could've allied with ever would.

They deserved to live.

I remember Artemis's interview and how _stupid_ I thought she was. I remember telling her about it on the night before the Games.

_"You— I'm not sure if you're brave or stupid,"_ I had told her.

_"Oldest saying in the book,"_ she once said, sighing. _"I've heard it far too many times even though I'm only fifteen."_

I don't remember asking her what the meant, and if I did, she didn't answer, but instead simply got up and went into her room. The next time I saw her was on our pedestals at the bloodbath. And then after that, I didn't see her again until today, at the feast. And now she's dead. The only way I'll ever be able to talk about her in present tense is if I'm mentioning that she's dead. Her life is now past tense.

As is a little boy who was once named Ryan's life.

Pain shoots through me. Anger builds up. I raise my trident and dig it deep into Ten's stomach (I am _not_ calling him Lion). He screams again, and then he coughs, and out comes blood, mixed in with the disgusting mucus. I take a gun, in memory of Ryan, and plant it next to his head, frowning.

_Guns aren't fair, _something in my mind tells me.

_This boy isn't fair,_ I think, and get ready to pull the trigger.

_If you're going to kill him, use another weapon,_ the same thing in my mind says sternly. _Guns aren't fair._

I groan and sigh, and then look around for a knife. Then, in my befuddled jumble of thoughts, I remember that I have one on me and pull it out, gingerly holding its handle and staring at it. Bloodthirsty screams play out in my mind and I am frightened at the overwhelming surge of bloodlust that overtakes me as I picture Ten's blood spilled across the floor and reddening the silvery gray knife that lost its shine in the dirt and animal blood that has been splattered over it repeatedly.

I listen, for a moment, to his screams. Some of them are fearful; some angry; some in pain. Most contain obscenities directed at me. He calls me names and means to demean me, to make me feel small, but when I am about to kill him and there's nothing he can do about it, it doesn't necessarily work. But somehow, the fact that he's helpless does. For, he is weak and I am strong now, and our roles have somehow switched. It's greatly disturbing to think that if I kill him, I will be just as awful as he is for killing Artemis. I can only be grateful that he didn't get his hands on Ryan; he is purely insane.

I sink the knife into his heart and then pull away as his cannon sounds. I jump back and run outside where there are no bodies, where I am not reminded of Ryan and Artemis. But they follow me outside, and they always will. The sounds of their voices, they way their faces looked when they were once pleased or happy or being silly, how determined Artemis looked in her interviews and how secretly jealous I've always been of her courage, and now it's lost forever.

And the anger and fury and the hatred directed at me from Ten as he tried so desperately hard to kill me will haunt me forever to.

Trumpets blare. "Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you—victor of the One Hundred Fifty-first Annual Hunger Games, Gray Hager, male of District Nine!"

So that's it. Twenty-three are dead and I am alive. I killed people—I killed two innocent _children_ who just wanted to go home.

Well, Ryan wanted to too.

But that's only at the back of my mind. Right now, I am wallowed in an ocean guilt and pain and madness and there's one thing I know for certain.

I don't know how to swim.

**A/N: I wish it was longer, more in-depth, and more emotional, but I've done and redone, written and rewritten, and stayed up very late for this chapter. It's not perfect and I don't think it could ever be. But I do love the last line. "I don't know how to swim." Metaphoric, I believe. I'd be happy to explain it if I wasn't clear and you don't understand why Gray stated he couldn't swim. :-D **

**Anyway, congratulations to Gray Hager and Bowserboy129! I've known for a while that Gray was my victor, dear readers, but there were times when I thought, "No, no, no, it should so be Artemis!" or "Max would be a cool victor," and "Hunter is pretty victor-like…" I've basically considered everyone as victor, but in the end, it was Gray. It was always Gray. I just never noticed! **

**Anyway, thank you all so much for submitting characters and reviewing and sticking with me through busy times and when it was deleted and so much. There have been times when I wanted to scream at the computer and blow the arena up and get the whole thing over with. But then I get a new review, and it inspires me so. There is nothing better than the wonderful feedback from you guys—nothing except writing itself.**

**I can't wait for the sequel. I'm working on D1 reapings now. So, yes, this was the last chapter. If you haven't gotten a reserved character into me, please do so by the time I get D2 reapings up.**

**Thank you all, and until the sequel,**

**wjjmwmsn5. **


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